


Can’t Hide It, You Might As Well Embrace It

by supernope



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bathtubs, Bottom Harry, Christmas Fluff, Couch Sex, First Kiss, Fluff, Glitter, Lots of Babies, M/M, Mpreg Harry, New Years Eve shenanigans, Poor Liam, Professor Harry, Professor Louis, Quidditch, Riding, Shower Sex, chapter three is literally 15k of them having sex OOP, even more magical plant mentions, fluff overload, harry and louis are the dream team, i don't even know what else to tag tbh!!!, like half of the second chapter is devoted to magical plants i'm sorry, surprise trips to Paris????, too many details about mars's moons, unprofessional hogwarts staff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 67,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6564775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernope/pseuds/supernope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Together since they were teenagers, Harry and Louis are professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They may also secretly be married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Chaptered fic, ahahahahshaskjadk!! I've been wanting to write another Hogwarts AU for ages, and this idea was presented to me a few weeks ago and I couldn't stop thinking about it, SO HERE WE GO. Sophia and Jordan - thank you for the idea and all of your help!!! I'm a mess. This is a mess.
> 
> **Warnings:** Harry and Louis are both underage in the prologue, but they just kiss, nothing sexual happens. Also, because it's me, the last chapter of this fic will be mpreg. SO, if mpreg isn't your jam, you can either stop at the second to last chapter, or skip this fic entirely, it's your call. I'll be adding tags as I put up the chapters, so you know what to expect.

Harry is fresh off the welcome feast when it happens, too fascinated by the wondrous castle around him to pay attention to where his new housemates are going. He's standing in the entrance hall admiring four glass hourglasses, each filled with bright jewels the size of a baby’s fist in one of the house colors, when he realizes his group has moved on without him. Heart dropping into his stomach, Harry races for the marble staircase, but stops short at the base of it, a thread of panic coiling at the base of his throat. There are dozens of places they could have gone - up the staircase, along a ground floor corridor, down the stairs into the dungeons - and Harry has no idea where to start looking for his new common room and dormitory.

Tears well up in his eyes as he spins in a helpless circle, but before any can spill over, there's a hand cupping his elbow and a high, gentle voice saying, “Hello there, little one, are you lost?”

Startled, Harry whirls around to see who's addressing him, and the whole room tilts on its axis, throwing him off balance. He's never seen someone so beautiful. He stumbles a bit, flushing bright red when the boy before him grasps his other elbow, as well, to try and keep him steady. Heart thumping painfully in his chest, skin tingling everywhere this boy is touching him, Harry whispers, “Yes. I've lost my house.”

“Oh dear, the castle is quite distracting, isn't it?” the boy asks with a kind smile, bright blue eyes glittering in the torchlight. “Right, which house are you in? I've been here two years already, I know where all of the common rooms are by now. I can help you.”

Gratitude leaves Harry a bit dizzy, and he sways on the spot, whispering a reverent, “Thank you.”

Distracted again by the boy’s smile, he doesn't say anything more, and they're both silent for a moment while the boy stares at him expectantly. Harry’s brain has gone fuzzy, though, and he's not quite sure what the boy wants from him now. After a few minutes, he prompts, “Well? Which house are you in?”

“Oh!” Harry flushes even harder and slaps a hand to his forehead. Idiot. “Ravenclaw.”

The boy's eyebrows wing up and he whistles, long and low. “A clever one, are you?”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Harry shrugs, toes turning in toward each other, and mutters, “I dunno. The hat didn't say much to me.”

“No?” The boys asks, taking Harry's elbow again, this time to guide him as they start up the marble staircase. “The hat took ages with me. Couldn't decide where I belonged.”

“Where did it put you in the end?” Harry asks, fascinated by this boy, this beautiful elfin creature with his high, lovely voice and expressive hands.

“Gryffindor,” he says, puffing his chest out with importance.

Duly impressed, Harry whispers, “Ooooh.”

“I know. I could be sleeping in the very bed Harry Potter himself slept in.”

Harry is just about to respond with a reassurance, absolutely certain that he is, when they come to a stop. Harry hadn’t even been fully aware that they were walking and climbing stairs. Oops. Tipping his head back, Harry sees that before them is an enormous oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of an eagle’s head.

“Well,” his guide says in a tone beyond his years, “this is where I leave you. You've just got to use the knocker and answer a riddle.”

Suddenly terrified, Harry stares at the boy, wide-eyed and panicky. “But - but what if I get it wrong?”

Smiling kindly, the boy ruffles Harry's hair and says, “I have confidence in you, Curly. The hat put you here for a reason, didn't it?”

“Well, I don't know,” Harry mutters, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

The boy starts to turn to leave, then stops. “I'm Louis, by the way.”

He holds a hand out for Harry to shake, which Harry does, butterflies fluttering madly in his tummy at the feel of Louis’ warm hand clasped loosely in his.

“Harry,” he whispers back. “It's lovely to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Louis says with a cheesy wink, sending Harry into a flurry of giggles. Smiling and looking well pleased with himself, Louis drops Harry's hand and takes a step back. “Well, have a good one, then. Enjoy your first night in the castle. And don't forget to come say hi at breakfast tomorrow, Curly Harry.”

Flushing bright red again, Harry shakes his head vigorously and whispers, “I won't.”

“Goodnight,” Louis murmurs, eyes warm on Harry's, and then he turns and disappears into the shadowy corridor.

Harry stares after him for a moment, completely moon-struck, his heart still thumping wildly in his chest. It takes a moment before he remembers where he is and what he's supposed to be doing. Shaking his head at himself, Harry turns back to the door and puts all thoughts of Louis out of his mind as he stretches a hand up toward the brass knocker, ready to start his first year in this marvelous place.

It's going to be a good one.

~

Morning arrives all too soon, and Harry finds himself trudging down to breakfast with a gaggle of fellow Ravenclaws. The weak morning light filtering in through the narrow castle windows is just enough to illuminate the way to the Great Hall, and Harry tries desperately to memorize it all after realizing that he’d been too distracted by Louis’ presence to notice much the previous night. It’s difficult, though, when the figures in the paintings along the walls keep shifting and moving about, running from frame to frame to whisper furiously with the next painting’s occupants, and when he witnesses, with his own two eyes, an entire bloody staircase rippling and shimmering, then disappearing completely.

“What if someone had been on it,” he asks no one in particular, horrified at the thought.

No one answers. Everyone is still too sleepy, not enough rest after an exciting first night in the castle.

The Great Hall is nearly empty when they arrive, just a handful of students at each of the tables, though the head table with all of their professors is nearly full. Harry takes a moment to orient himself in the large room, looking up at the banners flanking each table. He wants to make sure he’s seated facing the Gryffindor table, just so he can see Louis when he walks in. The thought of what he’s doing is enough to make Harry flush red in embarrassment, but he chooses his seat facing the other table anyway, then throws himself into surveying the spread of food as a distraction.

There are dishes from every nationality Harry could possibly think of. Some of the dishes he recognizes, and some he doesn’t, but they all look incredible. Mouth positively watering, Harry scoops a poached egg onto his plate, along with several sausages, buttered toast, beans, and some shakshuka. He’ll wait until he’s cleared some room on his plate to go back for hash browns. Everything is absolutely delicious, right down to the ice cold pumpkin juice.

Harry is halfway through his plate when he seems him. He’s been checking furtively every few minutes, sneaking glances up and down the Gryffindor table to make sure he hasn’t missed him somehow, but this time, with a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth, he notices him straight away. He’s facing Harry, eyes nearly closed as he cradles a steaming mug of tea in front of his face. Harry’s heart lurches ridiculously in his chest and he sets his fork down, eggs uneaten, until his hands stop trembling.

Ridiculous, he thinks, mentally chiding himself. Louis had told him to come say hi in the morning, sure, but it had been a long, exciting night. He probably doesn’t even remember Harry, now that it’s morning and he’s had a decent night’s sleep, is back with all of his friends. At war with himself, Harry forces his hand to close around his fork, scoop up more eggs, and lift them to his mouth. He’s determined to act normal, to get through this breakfast without embarrassing himself by doing something silly, like bopping over to meet Louis and being met with a blank face, zero recognition.

He’s worked himself into a fine mope, is chewing listlessly on a mouthful of shakshuka, when a hand lands on his shoulder and a familiar voice says, “Successfully found your way back down from your common room, then, I see?”

Choking only a little as he swallows his food hastily, Harry swivels in his seat and cranes his head so he can look up at Louis. He looks lovely in daylight, eyes a brilliant, wintery blue, hair soft and feathered around his face, small, sleepy pouches still visible underneath his eyes. He smiles at Harry, warm and friendly, and says, “Budge over, Curly.”

Without waiting for Harry to actually move, Louis clambers onto the bench beside him and immediately reaches for a piece of buttered toast, ignoring the looks of confusion and horror from Harry’s housemates. Louis hums pleasantly to himself as he nips a sausage off the platter in front of Harry and sets it in the center of the toast, then folds the bread around it like a sandwich, topping it with a drizzle of beans.

Fascinated and slightly horrified, Harry watches as Louis takes an enormous bite.

“You know,” Louis comments, mouth full, “I think the house elves like you lot better than they do us. Food tastes better over here.”

“It does not,” Harry giggles, dragging his fork through a pool of gravy on his plate, an attempt at distracting himself so he won’t just sit there and stare at Louis.

“It does!” Louis insists. “I bet the pumpkin juice is better here, too.”

Before Harry can stop him, Louis picks up his goblet and takes a healthy swig of juice, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as if he’s performing a true analysis.

“Yep,” he declares, popping the ‘p’ dramatically. “Just like I thought. It’s definitely colder. And sweeter.” He follows that last statement up by curling his forefinger and tucking it underneath Harry’s chin, cooing, “Just like you.”

Louis looks delighted at the way Harry dissolves into giggles, heart pattering rapid-fire against his ribs. He’s just about to respond, say... well, he’s not quite sure what, but it will come to him, when the headmaster pushes to his feet and the room falls instantaneously silent. Harry reluctantly tears his attention off of Louis and looks up at the front of the room.

“Good morning, everyone, and welcome to your first day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Soon, your heads of houses will be handing out your course schedules. As always, third years and above, if you have any questions or concerns about the courses you have selected, please see your heads of house about changes. First years, prefects will be around to show you to and from your classes _this week only_ , so make sure you pay attention as you go from class to class. Here at Hogwarts, we do not excuse tardiness.”

He aims a stern look at each of the tables in turn, though Harry thinks he can detect the faintest hint of a smile about the corners of his mouth.

“And now, one last thing before I let you finish up your meals. Though, of course, we do stress academics and a rigorous learning environment, your professors and I do want you to enjoy your time here, as well.” He spreads his hands wide to encompass the whole room, continues, “May this coming year be a year of learning and enchantment, of immense growth of both mind and soul. May you fill your minds with knowledge and wonder, may you teach and be taught in equal amounts, and, most importantly, may you have fun and enjoy every day for the gift that it is. For magic is a wondrous, powerful thing, not to be taken lightly. May you find it in yourselves to respect and appreciate its power, its incredible capacity for good, and utilize it in only the best of ways. Now, please, finish up your breakfasts. Fill your stomachs so that you may go on to fill your minds.”

The headmaster sits back down to a smattering of applause, then the room slowly fills back up with the sounds of conversation and cutlery clinking against plates. There is excitement brimming just underneath Harry’s skin, almost too much to contain.

“Well,” Louis sighs, setting Harry’s goblet back down, “I suppose that’s my cue.”

Harry suppresses a shiver when Louis settles a hand on his shoulder again and squeezes. He doesn’t want Louis to leave, but he needs to rejoin his house so that he can get his course schedule. Trying not to let disappointment show on his face, Harry watches as Louis stands, hand still on Harry’s shoulder.

“See you at lunch, Curly?” He waits for Harry to nod, then continues, “Have fun at your morning classes.”

He pauses then, a thoughtful look on his face. Harry watches him expectantly, chest just a bit too tight. He’s radiant in the early morning light, like a brilliant sun, pulling Harry into his orbit. He’s the loveliest thing Harry has ever seen, in all of his eleven years of life. Finally, Louis says in a slow, soft voice, “You know, I reckon this is going to be a good year.”

And then, with a wink, he’s gone.

Harry watches him stroll down the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables for just a moment before turning back to his plate of food. He wants to eat a bit more before it all disappears.

“Who was that?” a voice asks from his other side. Ed, Harry thinks his name is, a fellow first year with a shock of ginger hair and a friendly, open face.

Wanting to keep Louis to himself just a bit longer, Harry shrugs and says, as nonchalantly as he can manage, “Just a third year. He helped me find the common room last night, when I got lost.”

“Oh,” Ed says easily, not fussed by Harry’s lack of details. “That was nice of him.”

It _was_ nice of him, Harry agrees mentally, lifting his juice to his mouth. As he sets the goblet back down, he feels a prickle of awareness at the back of his neck, finds his gaze wandering across the room, back to the Gryffindor table. Louis is facing him and, as soon as their eyes meet, he winks again, offers him a flash of a smile.

_Yes_ , Harry thinks decisively, mouth curling into an answering grin. _It_ is _going to be a good year_.

;;

It's quiet in the library, the only sounds those of quills scratching on parchment and the flutter of heavy book pages turning. Snow has built up on the windowsills, casting an eerie grayish light about the cavernous room that filters down the stacks and spills long shadows across the floor. The torches flicker lazily against the stone walls, not doing much to dispel the cold seeping in through the glass panes of the windows.

“And Phobos orbits around Deimos...” Louis pauses and frowns down at the star chart he's working on, the end of his quill caught between his teeth. “No, that doesn't make sense.”

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Louis shoves the parchment aside so that he can rifle through notes from class and the textbook in search of the mistake that lead to this. His mouth shapes the words as he skims over scattered paragraphs of text. He needs to finish this chart so he can start his end of term essay, but it's not going well. At least he still has a year until his N.E.W.T.s.

The mistake doesn't materialize until Louis is halfway through an entire term’s worth of notes. “Bollocks,” he mutters, fishing his wand out of his robes so he can siphon ink off the parchment and re-draw Phobos. It's 93º, not 39. “Idiot.”

“It wouldn't have made sense anyway,” a voice says to his right.

“No?” Louis asks, sliding a sidelong glance at his neighbor.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. The corners of his mouth are quirked up into a secretive little smile, like he’s hiding the world’s greatest secret, rather than the reason Louis’ stupid star chart was wrong.

Sighing, Louis swivels in his seat. “Alright, dear Hazza, tell me why. I know you want to.”

With a sheepish grin and a rustle of fabric as he turns to face Louis, Harry shoves a hand through his mop of hair and explains, “Phobos is larger than Deimos, so it has a stronger gravitational pull. If anything, Deimos would orbit Phobos, but Mars is the largest of all of them, so they all just orbit Mars instead.”

“Smart-arse,” Louis mutters, but he reaches a hand out to ruffle Harry's hair all the same.

They settle back into a comfortable silence after that. Louis finishes drawing a careful miniature replica of Phobos, then moves onto studying for his Transfiguration midterm, while Harry scratches out sentence after sentence on caring for golden geese. The quiet of the library settles around them like a blanket, until Louis is certain he can hear snowflakes falling outside the windows and the distant crackle of ice floating atop the lake.

Part-way through a section on cross-species transfiguration, Harry clears his throat very softly and whispers, “Lou?”

Louis hums his response, marking his spot with a quill before turning to look at Harry. He hadn’t realized how long they’ve been sitting in here. It’s significantly darker than when they had arrived, torches casting deep shadows across Harry’s face. The illuminated part of his face, though, the round apple of his cheek, is flushed pink.

Frowning, Louis reaches out and pokes Harry right in the center of his cheek, where he knows a dimple will flutter to life. The skin is warm to the touch - warmer than usual, anyway, underneath the flush - but Harry responds as he always does, with a bashful little smile that has that dimple flirting at the corner of his mouth, just how Louis likes it.

“What is it, Curly?” he asks, curious as to what’s got Harry blushing like this.

Silence stretches between them for one long, interminable moment before Harry heaves an enormous sigh, fluttering parchment and making the candle at the center of the table gutter. His voice is scratchy and timid when he starts, “I was just wondering if - have you...”

He trails off with a frustrated little noise, then takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Louis waits patiently, never taking his eyes off Harry’s unreadable face. Transfiguration can wait.

Finally, Harry wrinkles his nose, then asks, “Have you asked anyone to the Yule Ball yet?”

“Oh,” Louis blinks, surprised. That had been the last thing he was expecting Harry to ask. “No, I... shit, it’s next week, isn’t it?”

Harry offers him a wry grin and a nod. Louis hadn’t really given it much thought. There isn’t really anyone he wants to bring. At least not - well.

“Why don’t you go with me?” he asks, an unfamiliar bundle of nerves settling in the pit of his stomach. He’d mostly been planning to go alone, but now that he thinks about it, this is a much more enjoyable option.

“Oh, please,” Harry snorts, waving a dismissive hand through the air. His cheek has flushed even darker, though, and Louis notes that his other hand is clenched around his Charms textbook, so hard his knuckles have gone white and the parchment pages are crinkling underneath his grip. “You should ask someone soon, though, before everyone has been invited already.”

Frowning, Louis tilts his head and says, “But I don’t want to go with anyone else but you.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he finds that they are completely truthful. There isn’t anyone he would rather spend the night with, dancing and eating and laughing and sneaking firewhiskey with underneath the table. Harry opens his mouth to respond, a slight frown on his face, and a sudden thought occurs to Louis, twisting his stomach into knots.

“You... someone else has already asked you, haven’t they?”

Harry chews on his bottom lip for a moment, then shrugs. “Well, someone did ask me the other week, but I said no.”

“What? Why?” Louis asks, baffled. Of course someone has already asked Harry. He’s kind and sweet and beautiful, why wouldn’t everyone be clamoring to take him as their date?

Ducking his head, Harry lifts his shoulders in a jerky little shrug. “Dunno,” he mutters, lifting a hand to pick at his bottom lip. When he continues, his voice is barely more than a whisper, and Louis has to lean forward to hear him properly. “Was kind of hoping you would ask me, instead.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Louis whispers back, heart twisting and turning in his chest.

Harry’s head shoots up, cheeks flaming even brighter than before, and he holds both hands out, palms forward, and says hurriedly, “I mean, don’t feel obligated to take me, that’s not why I - if there’s someone else you’d rather take, please do. I just thought it would be...” He casts about for a word, eyes wide and wild in the flickering torchlight. Finally, he ends with a lame, defeated, “fun.”

Louis watches him for a moment, studies the flush riding high on his cheeks, the glossy sheen to his eyes, the way his hands keep twisting together in his lap and his throat keeps bobbing with audible swallows. And he feels so silly, so foolish for not even considering it before. Of course, he’s _considered_ it - has more than considered it, for going on four years now - but it’s always been more of a niggling thought at the back of his mind, a poor attempt at keeping the thoughts under lock and key.

“Harry,” Louis says softly, reaching forward to stop his hands before he ends up breaking his own fingers from wringing them so hard. “Please, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

It seems to take a second for Louis’ words to truly sink in, and then it’s as if all of the wind goes out of him. Harry just... deflates, and a soft, hesitant smile spreads slowly across his face. Biting his lip, he asks, “Are you sure?”

Louis’ eyebrow wings up and his mouth turns down into a frown, ready to snipe at Harry for being so silly. Before he can open his mouth and say something, though, Harry laughs and rushes to say, “Okay, okay. Yes, of course I’ll go with you. I just. Wanted to make sure you weren’t settling.”

Louis rolls his eyes so hard he feels a twinge in his forehead, then yanks Harry forward and into the circle of his arms. “Silly boy,” Louis murmurs, burying his face in Harry’s hair. “I would be settling if I took anyone else _but_ you.”

~

The night of the Yule Ball, Louis finds himself more nervous than he had been expecting. True, the week leading up to the ball has been oddly strained, a new tension spinning out between him and Harry that they’ve never experienced before, but he’s been working around it, trying not to let anything, not even their pending _date_ , affect how he interacts with Harry.

Blowing out an unsteady breath, Louis smooths down his dress robes and looks himself up and down in the mirror.

“Looking a bit peaky there, dear,” it comments, but Louis just sticks his tongue out at his own reflection and turns away. Of course he’s looking peaky. He’s _nervous_.

Louis descends the spiral stairs and steps into the common room, teeming with people in various states of dress. First, second, and third years are moping about in pyjamas, watching with jealousy written plainly across their faces as the fourth years and up primp and preen for the ball. Louis is supposed to meet Harry at the top of the marble staircase in about... he checks his watch and curses. Five minutes.

Suddenly quite flustered, Louis smooths his hair down and trips toward the portrait hole, jittering impatiently while the Fat Lady swings forward to let him out.

“Do have fun,” she trills after him, and Louis waves a trembling hand over his shoulder in thanks, in too much of a hurry to stop and say it properly.

It’s an absolute madhouse when Louis arrives at the top of the staircase, fighting to calm his racing heart. He’s not sure _why_ he’s nervous. It’s just Harry, his best mate of four years. He’s seen Harry in fancy dress and he’s seen Harry completely naked. They’ve danced, they’ve wrestled, they’ve shouted at each other until their faces turned blue, then collapsed in a heap of laughter mere minutes later. They’ve seen each other at their best and worst and everything in between. This is just like any other night, Louis tells himself, straining his neck to try and spot Harry’s wild curls over the top of the crowd.

His heart leaps into his throat when he finally recognizes a familiar mop, huddled against the far banister. Right, he tells himself as he takes one bolstering step forward. Just like any other night.

It feels just like a movie when Louis reaches Harry; the crowd parts suddenly, and there he is. Louis’ heart stops beating in his chest. He’s wearing the customary formal black robes, but he’s dressed it up with a festive red floral neck bow. His hair is falling in ringlets around his face and there’s a bit of shimmer daubed at the corners of his eyes, a sleek gloss to his lips that makes Louis think of cherries, makes Louis want to taste him.

“Wow,” Louis rasps, stopping in front of Harry and just. Staring. “You look beautiful.”

Harry fiddles with a lock of hair behind his ear, nerves evident on his face, in the way his toes are pointing inwards and his other hand is clenched into a fist at his side. “Thank you,” Harry mumbles, sweeping his gaze down Louis’ body. “You look very handsome.”

In an attempt to break the awkward tension that’s settled around them, Louis flicks a hand through the air and says, “Well, that’s nothing new.”

The joke has the exact effect Louis had intended. Harry’s cheeks round out in a broad grin and he lets out a soft giggle. His posture relaxes a fraction, eyes going soft, and Louis takes the opportunity to offer Harry his elbow.

“Shall we?” he asks in an overly posh accent, unable to mask a grin of his own when Harry laughs again and tucks his hand into the crook of his elbow so that Louis can lead him down the stairs.

They make idle chit chat as they approach the Great Hall, talk of nothing of consequence, but it’s comfortable. Familiar in a way that Harry’s hand on his elbow, the faint scent of perfume floating off Harry’s body, the consistent thrum of nerves in Louis’ belly, isn’t.

The Great Hall is overflowing with students from every house, some wandering around the chat with each other, some seated at small tables that have replaced the long house tables, some already dancing. Suddenly nervous again, Louis slants a look at Harry and asks, “Do you want to sit first and have a drink, or do you want to dance?”

Harry pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger as he surveys the room. After a minute, he decides, “Let’s have a drink first, I think.”

Smiling now, Louis pulls Harry over to the refreshments table, where an enormous bowl of iced pumpkin juice sits, flanked by endless carafes of butterbeer and some clear liquid with bits of fruit floating in it. Louis snags one of the carafes of butterbeer and two glasses, then leads them over to a secluded table. Hunching over it so that no one can see, Louis whispers, “Guess what I’ve got?”

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry hisses, glancing around to see if anyone is watching or listening, but Louis cuts him off with a swift shake of his head.

He produces a small flask from inside his sleeve, smiling triumphantly as he uncaps it.

“Firewhiskey,” he informs Harry, before dumping half of the flask into the carafe and giving it a swirl. He slips the flask back up his sleeve for later, then pours two hearty glasses of the spiked butterbeer and hands one to Harry.

“Cheers,” Louis grins, eyes locked on Harry’s as he lifts the glass to his mouth and gulps half of it down.

Harry sips the drink at a more sedate pace, but it’s not long before his cheeks are flushed and he’s loose and happy, just shy of pleasantly tipsy. Not quite finished with his first glass, Harry slams it down on the table rather forcefully and announces, “Alright! We’re going to dance, Lou.”

Louis just smiles and lets Harry tug him over to the makeshift dance floor and into the crowd of dancers. It’s bloody hot amongst all of the shifting, twirling bodies, but Harry’s hands are firm in his, eyes bright and lips stained red, and everything else falls away until Harry is all he can see.

They dance for what feels like hours, until Louis’ feet are aching and his cheeks are sore from smiling and laughing so much. Harry is a ridiculous dancer, all flailing limbs and wiggling hips, but Louis has never had this much fun in his life. They stumble back to the table hours later, after the crowd has already begun to thin, and down several glasses of pumpkin juice.

“Merlin’s beard,” Louis wheezes, plucking at the front of his stifling dress robes. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

“It’s just you,” Harry leers, startling Louis so much that he freezes, eyes wide on Harry’s face. Harry only manages to hold the look for a minute, though, before he’s bursting into laughter. “Come on, Lou, let’s go get some fresh air.”

The front doors to the castle are already propped open, the lawns no doubt littered with students who’ve snuck off for a bit of heated snogging, but Louis just wants to calm his feverish pulse and cool his flushed skin. He slides a sideways glance at Harry, noting the rosy hue of his cheeks and the way his eyes keep flitting to Louis, then away again, like he thinks he’s being sneaky. Louis ducks his head, tucking a secretive smile into the collar of his robes.

It’s a brilliant, cloudless night, the moon half full and high in the sky. The frosty grass crunches underfoot as they wander away from the imposing structure of the castle, off toward the frozen lake. Feeling bold, then laughing at himself because this is something they’ve been doing for years now and he shouldn’t have to feel brave to initiate it, Louis slides their palms together and slots his fingers between Harry’s. The smile Harry offers him leaves Louis breathless.

They stop just on the edge of the lake. Louis leans back against a barren beech tree, then tugs Harry against him, wrapping him up in the billowing edges of his dress robes so he doesn’t get cold. Harry burrows in immediately, tucking his frigid nose in against Louis’ collarbone.

“Lou,” Harry mumbles, lips dragging against Louis’ skin. He shivers. “Thank you for inviting me tonight. I had so much fun.”

Smiling softly, Louis drags a hand through Harry’s hair, appreciating the way it incites a full-body shiver. Harry has always loved when Louis plays with his hair. Louis’ little overgrown cat. “Of course, love,” he murmurs, tucking his chin in so he can press a kiss to Harry’s temple. “I couldn’t have asked for a better date.”

Harry’s fingers curl against Louis’ shoulder and he sucks in a breath, then blows it out slowly. Louis’ not sure why, but his heart is suddenly beating double-time in his chest and it feels like everything around them has gone hazy, as if time has slowed down and the world has fallen away, leaving just the two of them and this beech tree, the only thing holding them up.

Millimeter by millimeter, Harry lifts his head and tips it back so he can look up at Louis. His eyelids are heavy, cheeks and nose flushed from the cold. Without thinking, Louis dips his head and presses a kiss to the very tip of his nose. Harry freezes and draws in a ragged breath, fingers clenching and unclenching in the fabric over Louis’ chest.

“Louis,” he whispers in a voice gone thick and tremulous. His eyes are huge and dark, liquid in the bright moonlight, and before Louis knows what he’s doing, he’s closing the distance between them.

The kiss is clumsy at best, frozen lips and teeth clacking together, but they both giggle into each others’ mouths, bodies trembling with chill and something deeper, an undercurrent of want that’s been simmering under the surface for far too long.

“Wait, wait,” Louis mouths, voice barely more than a whisper, and he slides his hands slowly up Harry’s back to cup his cheeks so that he can tip his head back just a bit more, angle it just so.

This time, when their mouths slide together, it sends sparks right down to Louis’ toes. It’s perfect, everything about this moment beautiful and startlingly clear, from the small gasp Harry lets out to the way he melts against him, arms winding around Louis’ neck so he can strain closer. The scent of him envelops Louis completely - something soft and flowery mixed with the familiar apple of his shampoo. It’s a heady combination.

There are winter birds twittering softly in the trees around them and the faint whoosh of wings as owls soar overhead in search of dinner, the hiss and crackle of ice as the giant squid moves underneath the surface of the lake, but all Louis hears, all he can see or feel or taste, is Harry.

They kiss until their fingers and toes have gone numb, until Louis feels that if he moves, he’ll shatter apart like a block of ice. Despite the cold, though, he feels warm inside, scorchingly hot everywhere he’s touching Harry. Eventually, shivering uncontrollably, Louis eases back a bit, until there’s just enough space between them that he can catch his breath.

“Louis?” Harry mumbles, eyes blinking open so he can look up at Louis in question.

Teeth chattering a little, Louis says, “We should g-go inside.”

“Oh.” Disappointment tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth and he steps back, giving Louis space to slip away from the tree.

Frowning, Louis grabs for Harry’s hand and drags him back in, instead, tugging him against his chest so he can say, “Hey, no. I’m just f-f-fucking freezing my b-bollocks off.” Leaning in, he nuzzles at the edge of Harry’s jaw with his frozen nose, asks, “There’s an empty spot and an unclaimed pillow for you in my dorm, if you want...?”

He feels it when Harry smiles, cheeks rounding out against his own, and his hands clench into fists around Louis’ robes. “Alright,” he whispers. “Are you sure your dorm mates won’t mind?”

Louis snorts, easing away from the tree so they can start heading back toward the castle. He’s reluctant to let go of Harry, though, so it’s slow-going. Harry doesn’t seem to mind. “Hazza, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for four years. If any of those tossers mind us just sleeping in the same bed after all this time, they can kiss my arse.”

Harry buries a giggle against Louis’ shoulder, then peeks up at him through his lashes, eyes bright. “Four years? Really?”

Oh, fuck, he hadn’t meant to let that slip. Aiming an embarrassed look up at the sky, Louis groans. “Can we just. Forget I said that?”

“No!” Harry laughs, stopping so he can wrap himself around Louis again. He darts in to press a handful of rapid, feather-light kisses against his lips. “I still remember that first night we met so clearly,” he murmurs, their lips just barely brushing as he speaks.

Louis can’t stop shivering, though he’s stopped feeling the cold.

“You were the most beautiful thing my eleven year old eyes had ever seen.”

“Stop,” Louis whispers, but he can’t help the way his hands keep stroking up and down Harry’s back in broad sweeps, his chest full to brimming with happiness and adoration. “That’s _you_. You were so pretty, I couldn’t stop looking at you. I still can’t.”

Louis tucks a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear with numb fingers. “Come,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers down Harry’s arm to grasp his hand. “Go to sleep with me. I want to hold you.”

Harry’s eyelids flutter at Louis’ words, and he nods once, slowly, a soft, sweet smile curving his lips.

The trek back to the castle and up to Gryffindor tower feels like the longest and shortest trip of Louis’ life. He’s not sure how long they were out on the grounds, but there are only a handful of people left in the common room, and they don’t spare them a second glance as they climb the spiral staircase hand in hand. His dorm mates are all sleeping, the sound of gentle snores filling the room.

Safely ensconced in Louis’ four-poster, curtains drawn, they undress each other with clumsy fingers, then burrow underneath the blankets and trade chaste, sleepy kisses until their eyelids are too heavy to keep open. Louis has to bury a smile in his pillow when Harry flips onto his side and scoots back against him, pulling Louis’ arm around his chest so they’re pressed tightly together. They’ve spooned dozens - hundreds of times in their four years of friendship, but it’s never felt quite like this. More than his house in Doncaster, more than the Hogwarts castle, more than _anything_ , this - Harry’s body fitted to his, fingers intertwined against Harry’s tummy - this feels like home.

Shifting his weight onto his elbow, Louis leans over Harry so he can press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the edge of his jaw. “Tonight was brilliant, thank you. Goodnight, love.”

Humming, pleased, Harry twists his head around for a real kiss, lips curving against Louis’ in a satisfied smile when he obliges. “Goodnight, Lou,” he whispers, their lips brushing with every syllable. “Tonight has been the best night of my life.”


	2. Winter Term

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excited for the new school year, Professors Harry and Louis settle back into their lives and teaching positions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But as the winter holidays approach, the efforts of hiding their relationship are draining, and it's only a matter of time before they crack or someone finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah sorry this chapter took so long! You'd think I'd have had more time while on spring break, smh. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy!!!

Harry wakes to the sound of birds chirping and wind rustling in through the open windows. The curtains billow madly with it, flapping and snapping like a sail on a storm-tossed sea. Sighing, Harry rolls over and buries his head in the pillow. It’s the last day of summer holidays, he thinks he deserves another hour of sleep.

He’s nearly there, limbs gone loose and mind a pleasant, drowsy haze, when he realizes how cold the bed is and how quiet the house is around him. Suddenly wide awake, Harry rolls back over and struggles to sit up, tangled as he is in the blankets. Once he’s free, he slips out of bed, stretching his arms toward the ceiling in an attempt to work sleepy kinks out of his back.

Despite the warmth of the sun, the wind filtering in through the windows has a pleasant bite to it, and the wooden floors radiate that chill. Shivering, Harry slides his feet into a pair of fluffy slippers and tugs on a robe. The thin silk doesn’t do much to ward off the cool August breeze, but it shields his bits from the neighbors as he wanders through the house, peeking into the spare bedrooms as he goes.

Harry’s frown deepens as he moves from room to room in search of signs of life. He can still see an imprint at the foot of the guest bed, a small, oblong rumple from where Salem had spent the night, but there’s no other hint of him or Luna in the house. Even their food bowls by the kitchen door are still full, food untouched. Harry checks the back garden, just in case they’ve gone on one of their joint adventures and couldn’t get back inside, but the back garden is just as empty as the house.

He’s not terribly worried, but he leaves the back door open, all the same, and stretches out on the sofa so he can see through the back windows and watch for them. Plucking his wand out of his robe pocket, Harry turns the old television in the corner on and, with a lazy flick of his wand, surfs the channels until he finds one playing old reruns of a muggle sitcom he’s come to enjoy. It's not enough to stop him dozing back off, though, and he falls asleep on the sofa with his cheek cushioned on his stacked palms, mouth curved into a pout while he waits for his babies to come home.

Harry comes to to the feeling of a wet tongue slathering his face. “Luna!” He squeals, shoving her heavy paws off his chest so he can sit up and get out of range of her tongue. “No, naughty girl! What have I said about licking my face while I'm sleeping?”

Luna whines low in her throat and hangs her head, like she knows exactly what Harry is saying. He manages to hold his stern expression for all of 30 seconds before he gives in and smushes her massive face between his hands, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose. “You’re so pretty,” he coos, scratching behind her ears so her eyes fall shut in bliss. “My sweet, naughty pup.”

“Did she lick your face again?”

“Yes,” Harry grumbles, wrinkling his nose as he straightens up. Bored now that Harry isn’t touching her, Luna stands, shakes herself bodily, then trots off in search of entertainment. “The training is not going well.” He tips his head back and watches through slitted eyes as Louis enters the room. He's holding a damp cloth and a small pastry box. Harry perks up in interest. “Oooh, what do you have?”

Louis stops behind Harry and leans over the back of the sofa, wiggles the cloth in front of him. “For your face,” he says, then he holds up the box, “and for your belly. Luna, Salem, and I went on a walk to fetch you your favorite scones from down the road.”

Harry wipes his face off gratefully, eyeing the box all the while. He hums in consideration, then, flicking his gaze back and forth between the pastry and Louis’ face. Lips pursed, he drops the cloth onto the coffee table then says, “I love you. I want a kiss first, though.”

He tips his head back and waits, lips already pursed, while Louis sets the box carefully on the end table, then leans over him for an upside-down kiss. Humming appreciatively, Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and draws him closer, twisting a bit to try and find a better angle.

“Harry,” Louis whispers against his mouth. His fingertips are tracing along the edges of Harry's jaw, sending shivers down his spine. “You're going to hurt your neck, and you should eat the scone while it’s fresh.”

Harry shakes his head, stubborn, and demands, “Come here.”

Louis makes a face like he's about to protest, but then Harry lets go of him and leans back against the armrest of the sofa, robe gaping across his chest, and his resolve crumbles. Harry watches, amused, as he aims a measuring look at the right end of the sofa, then the left, as if gauging which will get him to Harry faster. In the end, he just mutters something unintelligible and vaults himself over the back of the sofa, then crawls over Harry and settles on top of him like a blanket. Harry welcomes his weight eagerly, wrapping arms and legs around him immediately.

“Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,” he chants, tilting his chin up in invitation.

Louis chuckles and shakes his head, but his eyes are soft, hands gentle as he cups Harry’s face and closes the short distance between them.

It starts out slow and easy, chaste, open-mouthed kisses while Louis’ thumbs stroke behind Harry’s ears. But desire rumbles in Harry’s chest, impatience jittering in his tummy, so he parts his lips and slips his tongue out to meet Louis’. Louis hums and slides his hands down to grip Harry’s sides, palms warm through the silk. He squeezes at the softness of Harry’s hips, fingers digging in just hard enough to have heat simmering in Harry’s belly. Humming low in his throat, Harry wraps a leg around the backs of Louis’ thighs and rolls his hips up, shivers when Louis strokes his hands up his sides so he can thumb at his nipples through the thin material of his robe. Electricity jolts from Harry’s nipples straight to his cock and, just like that, the kiss turns messy and frantic. Harry hitches his legs higher, until they’re wrapped around Louis’ waist, and arches his back, trying to get closer. He can feel Louis’ cock hardening against his lower belly, is already hard himself and throbbing in anticipation.

Harry’s head falls back against the armrest with a disappointed whimper when Louis pulls back a bit so he can part his robe, but it turns quickly to a moan when Louis then ducks his head and closes his mouth around one of his nipples, lighting a fire under Harry’s skin. Louis sucks hard and scrapes his teeth against the bud, just this side of rough, just the way Harry likes it. By the time Louis moves to the other nipple, there are flames licking along his veins, threatening to engulf him. His dick is leaking precome against his belly, soaking into the edge of his robe, and he’s going to have to wash this robe very carefully by hand afterward, but it will be worth it.

“Louis,” Harry moans, breathless and high in his throat. He’s clutching at Louis’ hair, hips rutting mindlessly against Louis’ stomach, but he wants _more_.

“What is it, love,” Louis asks, tilting his head to the side and looking up at Harry. His stubble is deliciously rough against the delicate skin of Harry’s chest, his over-sensitive, puffy nipples, and has more precome beading at the tip of his cock and soaking into the silk of his robe. “What do you want?”

Harry’s fingers clench in Louis’ hair and he writhes underneath Louis, chants, “You, you, always you.”

“You want my mouth?” Louis asks, sitting up so he can unbelt Harry’s robe. The two panels slip over his sides, exposing him to the chill air. He’s completely naked underneath, flushed all the way down his chest, cock hard and leaking against trembling his belly. “Look at you,” Louis murmurs, reverence in his voice. He slides a hand down the center of Harry’s body, leaving tremors in its wake.

Harry lets out a guttural moan when Louis wraps a hand around him and gives one slow, agonizing tug. It takes everything in him to shake his head and pant, “No, need your cock. Inside me.”

“Fuck,” Louis mutters. He’s still gripping Harry’s cock, thumb rubbing absently just under the head, and Harry can’t stop trembling.

He watches through slitted eyes, chest heaving, as Louis fumbles his wand from his back pocket with his left hand and waves it toward the bedrooms, muttering something under his breath. Harry manages a weak laugh when he hears a whistle of air, and then one of their bottles of lube sails neatly into his hand. The laugh quickly turns to a gasp when Louis drops the bottle onto his chest and lets go of him so he can grip Harry’s legs and toss them over his shoulders.

“Oh,” he breathes, head falling back again when Louis retrieves the bottle and he hears the snick of the bottle cap, followed by the wet sound of lube being squeezed into Louis’ palm. Before he can take a breath, Louis is rubbing the slick pad of a finger over his hole, back and forth, just teasing at his entrance until Harry is whining and squirming, unable to rock back against his hand and try to force anything in this position. Tugging at his own hair desperately, Harry grinds out, “ _Lou_ , please, just -”

His mouth falls open on a moan when Louis finally slides the tip of his finger past Harry’s rim. He pushes in slowly, torturously so, then waits a moment for Harry to adjust. He doesn’t need it though, wiggles his hips as much as he can to try and get Louis moving.

The room around them fades to a blurry haze, the bright twittering of birds outside nothing more than white noise, as Louis works Harry open.  He starts out slow, just one finger and his mouth on the inside of Harry’s thighs, sucking bright purple bruises into the sensitive skin, for what feels like ages until Harry is begging for another. When he finally relents, gives Harry what he wants, Louis works up to three fingers so quickly Harry can barely catch his breath, the pads of his fingers rubbing insistently over Harry’s prostate so he feels like he’ll splinter apart of Louis doesn’t get inside him _now_.

“I’m ready, Lou, I’m ready,” Harry pants, fingers scrabbling against the sofa cushions. He kicks his heels against Louis’ back for emphasis, whines desperately when Louis takes a moment to sink his teeth into the meat of Harry’s thigh and suck another bruise into his skin. “Lou,” he nearly sobs, chest heaving as Louis strokes over his prostate again and again. His cock is leaking steadily onto his tummy, making an absolute mess, but it feels so good. _Too_ good, and he’s going to come if Louis doesn’t -

“Alright, shh, I’ve got you,” Louis soothes, slipping his fingers out and reaching for the lube again. He slicks himself up quickly, then raises up onto his knees, letting Harry’s legs slip down his shoulders a bit so he can line himself up. “Are you ready, love?” he asks, stroking a hand up Harry’s side.

“Yes, yes, ‘m ready,” Harry babbles, grabbing for Louis’ hand and twining their fingers against his messy stomach.

All of the breath is punched out of him as Louis pushes slowly in, three fingers never quite enough. He feels stretched wide, split open on Louis’ cock as he bottoms out, but it’s one of Harry’s favorite feelings in the world. Louis gives him a minute, then squeezes his hand where they’re still clasped, asks, “Alright, babe?”

“Yes,” Harry breathes, loosening his white-knuckled grip on Louis’ hand and relaxing back into the cushions.

Louis untangles their fingers so he can grab Harry’s hips and hold him steady while he pulls out, then pushes back in, long, smooth thrusts that have Harry’s toes curling and his eyes fluttering closed. Harry feels glorious like this, stretched out across the sofa cushions with Louis hovering over him, on display for Louis with his back arched as pleasure courses through his body in waves that leave his fingers and toes tingling.

Eyes still closed, he lifts his arms and wiggles his fingers, asking silently for a kiss. Always ready for kisses, always ready to give Harry what he wants, Louis leans over him, pressing Harry’s thighs against his chest and folding him in half so he can get close enough. He can only work his hips in shallow little thrusts in this position and Harry’s thighs burn with the stretch, but it changes the angle, has him pressing directly against Harry’s prostate with each breathless drag of his hips, and Harry moans into the kiss, digs his fingers into the back of Louis’ neck so he won’t try to move. It feels incredible, so good Harry’s chest feels tight and he can barely draw a breath. Louis’ belly is rubbing against the underside of his cock with every move, stoking the flames licking lazily at his skin, until he feels like he’ll just burn up if he doesn’t come soon.

Louis eases back when Harry lets go of him to tweak his own nipples, desperately chasing his orgasm. Harry whines at the change in angle, eyes flying open so he can beg Louis to come back. But before he can say anything, Louis grips his bum and angles his body just so, then draws almost all the way out and slams back in, punching a jagged, broken moan out of him. He sets a rough pace after that, snapping his hips and jarring Harry against the arm of the sofa, but he doesn’t care. This angle, this pace has him seeing stars, has him racing toward orgasm so fast he can barely draw a breath.

It’s coiling inside of him, wrapping tighter and tighter, toes curling and back arching as he fights to get closer, to draw Louis in deeper. He can’t stop the noises falling from his mouth, or the way he’s clawing at the sofa cushions, and when finally Louis wraps a tight hand around him, all it takes is one stroke and and he’s coming so hard he sees stars bursting against the backs of his eyelids.

As if from a great distance, Harry feels Louis’ thrusts go erratic, feels his mouth close around one of the bruises on his thigh again and suck so hard his cock dribbles another weak spurt of come. Harry lets out a soft, whimpering moan at the feeling when Louis comes a moment later with Harry’s name on his lips. This is also at the top of the list of Harry’s favorite feelings, and he lets out another helpless moan at the pulse of Louis’ cock inside of him, filling him up.

Too worn out to move in any way when Louis lets him go, Harry lets his legs fall to the sofa, arms limp at his sides as Louis collapses on top of him while he catches his breath. He can hear blood rushing in his ears, can feel Louis’ racing heart against his own, the sweaty slide of skin on skin where they’re pressed together, head to toe. Louis is still inside of him, both of them too boneless and worn to do anything about it.

Harry nearly dozes off as they both come down, limbs weighted down with exhaustion from holding the position and the force of his release. When he does finally open his eyes, the sunlight filling the room around them is splintered, everything a fractured, hazy blur while he struggles to focus.

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry groans, trying and failing to lift his arms so he can push his hair out of his eyes. He does manage to get one arm around Louis’ shoulders, though, so he counts that as a success. “I don’t think I’ll be able to move for the rest of the day.”

Louis’ laughter comes as a warm gust of air against the crook of Harry’s neck. When Louis lifts his head to look down at him, Harry’s eyes finally come into focus, heart lurching ridiculously in his chest. His gorgeous man.

“That was quite the workout,” Louis concedes, brushing Harry’s hair off his face with gentle fingers. “Worth it, though. We won’t be able to have midday sex like this until Christmas hols.”

“Says who?” Harry challenges, raising an eyebrow. “We get to come home on weekends, and we both have private offices. If I remember correctly, I even got you to fuck me in that hidden broom cupboard behind the tapestry of Boris the Horrible while everyone was at the Halloween Feast last year.”

Grinning, Louis ducks down to press a soft kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, murmurs, “Touché, darling.”

They lie there for a few more minutes, just basking in the autumn chill and each other, until Harry is too sticky, thighs too sore to be comfortable anymore. He pokes Louis’ side, smiling stupidly at the ceiling when Louis giggles and squirms on top of him. He loves Louis _so_ much.

“Lou,” he tries, poking him again, but he only gets another giggle in response. “Louis, if you don’t get off and come shower with me, I am dumping you onto the floor.”

“Fine, fine,” Louis grumbles, but he’s smiling when he sits up, eyes bright and cheeks still flushed.

It’s uncomfortable at best when he slips out of Harry, and they’re going to have to scrub to sofa clean later, but Harry just stretches shamelessly, stretching sore muscles and showing off, just a little bit. Louis lays a hand against Harry’s chest, fingertips brushing his collarbone, and studies him for a moment. Harry just watches him quietly, heart thundering against Louis’ palm.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Louis whispers then, scratching lightly at Harry’s skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

Harry huffs and rolls his eyes, but a fresh wave of pleasure rolls over him and his whole body feels suffused with light. “I love you,” he whispers back, watching as Louis’ smile widens until his eyes are nothing more than happy little slits and his cheeks are rounded so much it looks painful. Then Harry raises his voice and says, demanding, “Now take me to the shower. Please.”

“Way to kill the moment, Styles,” Louis laughs, but he clambers off the sofa, scoops Harry into his arms, and trudges toward their bedroom so they can wash off all of the sweat and dried spunk.

 

After Harry cleans his robe and Louis cleans the sofa - with magic, of course, because what are _Tergeo_ charms for, if not siphoning come off sofa cushions after a round of vigorous couch sex - they spend the rest of the day lounging about and deliberately _not_ talking about work. Tomorrow evening, the students will arrive, and the next nine months will be filled to the brim with lessons, homework, exams, house rivalries, discipline, and the ever-watchful eyes of the staff and student body. But for now, for today, it’s just the two of them and the last, lingering hours of summer.

;;

Harry’s first class of the term is the third year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. It’s only his second year as a Hogwarts professor, but he likes to think he’s already formed a bond with last year’s students, and he’s quite excited to start the new year.

The Great Hall is still rather empty of students, as there’s still an hour until the first class of the day, but the staff table is full of professors quietly eating breakfast as they ready themselves for the first day of term. Harry finishes his breakfast in record time, too excited to go slow. He tries to sit and wait a bit afterward, but he’s too jittery, too excited to go get everything ready. He wants to be _prepared_. Casting a quick glance around them, he squeezes Louis’ hand under the staff table, whispers a hasty goodbye and good luck, then heads out of the castle and down toward the greenhouses, trying not to skip as he goes.

He’s quite pleased with where he’s ended up. After finishing school with top marks, he had gone on to work for the Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries as part of their respective herbology departments - the Ministry’s focused on discovering uses for magical plants and setting rules and regulations, and the Hospital’s focused on growing, breeding, and harvesting magical plants for healing purposes. He had enjoyed both jobs immensely, but he had always wanted to teach and be around children. After working for the Ministry and the Hospital for nearly seven years, the Herbology professor at Hogwarts retired, and Harry had jumped at the chance to interview for the position. Now, he gets to teach children about plants _and_ work with his husband. He's quite certain he's the luckiest man alive.

Harry is humming cheerfully when he unlocks Greenhouse Two, unable to wipe the happy grin off his face. He lifts the hem of his robes so they don’t drag through the bit of mud that’s built up along the edge of the building, too pleased with the stripe of green he’d charmed along the bottom - his own little form of rebellion against the dress codes. He lets the robes fall as he steps inside, lets the door swing shut behind him.

Inside, everything is damp and quiet and smells of rich, healthy soil and the fragrant perfume of flowers. The Ribbon Roses are still closed up in slumber, water droplets shining off their smooth, velvety blue, ribbon-like petals, but the Spiky Bushes are already awake, their thorn-ridden branches waving about in search of something to pester and set their teeth into. Harry walks along the aisles, brushing careful fingers along the undersides of the Moon Mushrooms, already closed up for the day, and the fuzzy, delicate leaves of the Fluxweed.

He's already decided to have the third years harvest Shrivelfigs for their lesson today, which they’ll be using for their first potion of the term, but he wants to open with something exciting first. He scans the greenhouse for a minute before his eyes zero in on his target. As he walks toward the far corner of the building, Harry conjures up a large sheet of cork board and a curved stick, then sets them aside for his demonstration. Once he’s done setting up buckets and pairs of gloves by the Shrivelfigs, there are still a good twenty minutes until the students are due. So, to occupy himself so he doesn't jitter out of his skin from anticipation, Harry walks slowly amongst the plants, pruning off dead leaves and whispering words of encouragement to sprouts and new blooms.

When he starts to hear a trickle of noise rolling down the hill, the distant chatter of young voices approaching, Harry banishes the dead leaves to the compost bin, brushes off his hands, and steps outside to greet his students. He remembers all of them from last year, but had had Louis quiz him at breakfast that morning, just in case.

“Good morning Tabitha, hello Henry,” he greets as they all begin to gather around him. Harry can see that they are sleepy still, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement in the air, nonetheless. This is their first class as third years, and they’re eager to see what awaits them.

Harry waits until everyone has gathered, then says, just loud enough for them all to hear, “Good morning, third years! I hope you all had a wonderful summer, and that you’ve all come back to Hogwarts ready to learn!” A few of the students giggle skeptically at that, but Harry just winks at them and continues. “As you can see, we’ll be working in Greenhouse Two for today. We are going to start our lesson in the back right corner. As you enter, make sure that you do not come _any closer_ than the Aromatic Horn Lily.”

Taking a step back, Harry holds the greenhouse door open so that the students can all shuffle inside. To his delight, they all listen and stay in line with the lilies, the ones in back craning their necks to try and get a peek at whatever it is Harry wants to show them.

Harry skirts around the aisle so he comes out facing the students, then claps his hands together and says, “Alright! Can anyone tell me what this is?”

The third years strain their necks to see what Harry is pointing at. It’s a trio of long, squat bushes with odd, green and black horn-shaped leaves. They seem to be quivering. One student, a tiny Gryffindor, raises her hand tentatively. Smiling in encouragement, Harry says, “Yes, Adrienne?”

“Is that a Porcupine Bush?” she asks in a tremulous voice, eyes wide.

Harry claps his hands together happily and cheers, “Yes, very good, Adrienne! Two points to Gryffindor! This,” he says, turning a bit so he can see both the bush and the students, “is a Porcupine Bush. Its leaves have been modified into quills, similar to a porcupine, and each quill is filled with some of the finest ink one could have. Once the ink has been removed, the quills are also ground into a powder, which has very valuable uses in potions that you may learn about in your sixth and seventh years. The catch, however...”

The third years watch with bated breath as Harry charms the cork board so it floats in midair opposite one of the bushes, then picks up the curved stick and uses it to poke the bush. All at once, the quills along the side of the bush that has been stimulated rise to alert, then shoot across the greenhouse, embedding themselves deep in the floating cork board.

The students release a collective, “Oooooh.”

One Hufflepuff raises his hand and Harry nods at him. “Yes, Tobias?”

“If that’s what happens when you touch it, how do people collect the ink?”

“Ah, an _excellent_ question!” Harry sets the stick down and lets the cork board drop to the ground. He approaches the bush, where the shedded quills are rapidly regrowing. “The marvelous thing about Porcupine Bushes is that they simply cannot resist a good...” He pauses for effect, watching, delighted, as the students all lean forward in anticipation. He conjures a plate behind his back, then whips it out with a flourish and says, “Fish dinner!”

A few of the third years squeak and shrink back at the sight of a platter of whole, raw fish, but Harry just picks one up with his hand and slides it right underneath the bush, head-first. It takes a moment, but then, with a great sucking noise, the fish disappears underneath the bush and all of its quills relax. Humming cheerfully, Harry slides the rest of the fish underneath the bush, then casually plucks a few quills to demonstrate the effect the fish has on the violent plant.

“An important thing to note is that a few fish like this will only occupy the bush for about ten minutes, so it’s important to keep a large supply, if you plan on harvesting many of the quills.”

He takes a few more questions after that, then moves them back toward the front of the building, where he’s got the supplies set up for the Shrivelfigs. They take a half hour to discuss Shrivelfigs, their uses, and how to grow and cultivate them, then Harry groups them into clusters of three and instructs them on how to harvest the figs, squeeze out the pits, and plant the pits properly. After that, he leaves them to it, wandering amongst them so he can advise, commend, or chit chat idly.

By the time he lets them go, they’ve got a nice supply of fresh Shrivelfigs to add to the potions supply cupboard, as well as enough to restock his own supply for when he needs to make tinctures for his plants.

The rest of Harry’s classes pass in a blur, but by the time dinner arrives, he is exhausted. He slumps into his seat at the staff table in the Great Hall with a soft groan, too tired to even take a sip of the pumpkin juice already in his goblet - probably courtesy of Louis, who is already seated beside him and looks just as exhausted as he feels. Harry manages a weak smile when Louis slides a hand under the table and squeezes his thigh, asks, “How was your first day of term, Professor Tomlinson?”

Louis chews on his bottom lip for a moment, trying not to smile at the formal greeting. “It was alright. Pretty good, I reckon. And yours, Professor Styles?”

“Marvelous,” Harry wheezes, stretching his back out with a grimace. Once he’s done, he slumps forward again with a great sigh. “The students were lovely, and my attention grabber was a great hit. What about you, Iona?” he asks, turning to face the Astronomy professor on his left.

Iona launches into a story about a fiasco with her fifth years right after lunch that has half the table laughing, and manages to restore enough of Harry’s spirit that he’s able to muster up the energy to serve himself some food. It’s all delicious, as always, but it just makes him sleepy again, belly pleasantly full and mind gone hazy with exhaustion.

Once everyone has finished and the food has all vanished, Harry and Louis hang back to supervise the tables as they clear out to head to their respective common rooms. They follow at a slower pace, limbs dragging as they climb the stairs toward their offices and chambers. As Harry’s “classrooms” are outside on the grounds, the Headmaster has assigned him the office alongside Louis’. Convenient.

Harry pauses outside the door to his office and sets the trigger charm that will alert him if anyone comes to find him, then follows Louis into his office and through to his chambers. He’s got a lovely, circular room toward the top of one of the towers. An enormous, wrought-iron bed sits between two of the narrow windows, sheets and duvet freshly fluffed and looking incredibly inviting. The rest of the room is filled with wardrobes and tables holding various items of interest - a quaffle, a broken sneakoscope, dozens of plants cultivated from the greenhouses and Harry’s own garden in Hogsmeade, a muggle football, a muggle keyboard that’s missing all of its wires, an ancient Wizard’s Chess set, and so many moving photos of the two of them. Even though they’re missing Luna and Salem, who are back in Hogsmeade being taken care of by Niall, who lives just down the road, it’s their little home away from home.

Sighing tiredly, Harry strips off and shoves his robes into the laundry bin. Despite his best efforts, the green stripe at the bottom is now stained with mud and fertilizer that will take ages to wash out. Hazards of the job, he supposes. The two of them squeeze into the shower in Louis’ bathroom together and soap each other up and rinse off lazily, too tired to take it anywhere exciting. Once they’re done, Harry sits at the bathroom counter while Louis dries his hair for him with a drying charm, combing his fingers through and twisting locks of hair around them so it dries in fat curls that hang partway down his back.

“Beautiful,” Louis whispers once he’s done, dropping a kiss to the top of Harry’s head.

Harry tips his head back, blinking slowly up at Louis, and says, “Thank you, love.”

“Always,” Louis murmurs in response, bending down to kiss him on the mouth, this time.

The walk from the bathroom to the bed feels like the longest walk of Harry’s life, after that. He falls into bed so grateful, he could cry as the delicious softness of the mattress and the blankets envelop him. It smells like lavender and Louis smells like vanilla and something spicy and delicious as he scoots up behind him and wraps himself around Harry, soft and warm.

“Goodnight, Lou,” Harry forces out around a yawn, wiggling back so there’s not a breath of space between them and twining their fingers together over his stomach.

Louis nuzzles the hair at the back of Harry’s neck, drops a warm kiss to the knob at the base of it, and whispers back, “Goodnight, darling. Sleep well.”

;;

The first month passes in an absolute blur. Each day is chock-full of activity, from classes, to meals in the Great Hall, to monitoring the hallways outside common rooms so they can make sure no one is sneaking out past curfew, and the two of them fall into bed each night bone-tired, too exhausted to do much more than kiss drowsily before sliding right into sleep. As much as they love their jobs, they both live for the weekends, when they get to return to their quiet, private house in Hogsmeade and be _themselves_.

But the first few weeks are always the hardest. It takes an enormous amount of effort to remember that he can’t touch Louis freely here, or share tidbits of their personal life with the rest of the staff. Harry has to pretend to retire to his own chambers each night and set the alert charm on his door every time, just in case. He knows that once they’ve settled back into the routine, it will get easier, hiding their relationship from everyone, but it takes time to remember that he can’t brush a hand across the back of Louis’ neck when they pass in the halls, or hold his hand as they monitor the corridors together, or call him ‘Lou’ while they’re sat at the staff table in the Great Hall at meal time. Every morning during the week, Harry moves his wedding band to his right hand and steels himself for the bizarre feeling that comes with treating his husband, the person he’s been with for twelve years, like he’s just a colleague and friend.

They both know that this is not sustainable, and that even it if were, they wouldn’t _want_ it to be. Eventually, they are going to have to tell Headmaster Higgins, and they’ll need a reasonable explanation as to why they kept it secret. That day will end up coming sooner, rather than later, Harry suspects, as it’s becoming harder and harder for them to leave the safe-haven of their Hogsmeade house every Monday morning to travel back to the castle and start pretending all over again.

It hadn’t really started out as a lie. When Louis had been hired, they hadn’t yet been married. Just 21 and 23, they had both been seeking out stability - well-paying jobs that they both enjoyed, a nice wizarding community, a home to settle into that would eventually support a family. So when Louis had been offered an interview for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, they had accepted it eagerly. Hogsmeade was lovely, and they were guaranteed to find a house big enough for their eventual needs and already connected to the Floo Network for Harry.

Louis had heard that he was more likely to be hired if single, because there would be less distractions taking him away from his courses and the castle. It was a silly notion, archaic and isolating, but Hogwarts demanded excellence from its students and professors. And so, careful with his wording, it had been easy enough to tell Headmaster Higgins that he was unmarried. Then three years later - and the two of them married since the previous summer - the Herbology professor had retired and Harry had been interviewed for the position at her recommendation. He couldn’t very well admit he was married without exposing Louis, though, and so the lie had lived on. They hadn’t minded much, their first year working together, but now Harry is nearing 26 and he’s tired of pretending. He wants to start a family at some point, wants to be able to wear his wedding band on the proper finger, wants to be able to kiss Louis on the cheek as they get up from the staff table to head to their respective classrooms. Soon, he tells himself every morning, as they go their separate ways and become just colleagues, once again. Soon.

 

By the time October rolls around, they’ve got a bit of their routine from the previous year back down. They’ve even managed to sneak private lunches together, either in Louis’ office or in one of the greenhouses, and Louis has surprised Harry with a few heated snogs in hidden passageways behind tapestries as they walk to and from their offices. Once, Louis even tugged Harry behind the massive statue of Cormac the Colossal on the fourth floor outside the History of Magic classroom. _That_ one had ended in some illicit groping and had nearly made them both late for dinner in the Great Hall. Needless to say, they’ve decided to cool their stolen makeout sessions down a bit.

With October comes freezing rain and bitter drafts where the frigid wind seeps through cracks between the stones in the castle walls. Freezing rain comes down in sheets almost daily for the first two weeks, coating the greenhouses in thin layers of frost that trap the cold air and make Harry’s classes miserable. He conjures small fires in jars and floats them above the student’s heads to try and keep them warm while they work, but more often than not, he ends class a bit early so that everyone has time to go warm up before they have to move off to whatever is scheduled next.

On a particularly windy day the week of Halloween, a knock sounds on the door of Greenhouse Five as Harry is tidying up after his sixth years. He raises his head just as the door creaks open, scattering a bunch of ice that had already coated the edges of the doorframe in the short time since his students left. Harry swipes the back of a hand across his forehead to try and get his hair out of his face so he can see who’s just walked in.

“Oh!” A smile breaks across his face and he drops the trowel he had been using to even out the dirt covering the Dragon Bush seeds they had planted. Harry’s voice is warm, pleased when he says, “Hello, this is a lovely surprise.”

Louis shoves his hood back and peels off his thick, woolen gloves as he advances further into the room, skirting around buckets of fertilizer and rickety stools so he can get over to Harry. “Hello, darling,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. “How have your classes been today?”

Harry shrugs and leans back on his heels, surveying the greenhouse. He’s had both his sixth and seventh years in here all month, working with some of the more fragile and dangerous plants - the Snarling Snargaluff stumps, fire-breathing Dragon Bushes, and the delicate Butterfly’s Breath. It’s been going quite well, and the classes are both small enough that he can keep them warm easily enough.

“Pretty well, I think. The sixth years started their end of term projects today, and the seventh years are working on ideas for theirs.” After casting a quick ‘ _Scourgify_ ’ to clean the remnants of dirt and fertilizer off his hands, Harry hooks his fingers into the neck of Louis’ robes and draws him in for another kiss, this one a bit more drawn out. Lips still brushing, their breaths fogging the air between them, Harry asks, “How were yours?”

Louis mimics Harry’s shrug, then kicks a bucket out from between them and tugs Harry against him completely. “It’s going a lot better, now,” he murmurs, before kissing Harry again, deep and slow. Between kisses, he whispers, “I missed you.”

“You saw me three hours ago,” Harry laughs, dragging his nails up the back of Louis’ neck.

“I always miss you.”

Harry feels so warm, heart full to bursting, as he wraps his arms tight around Louis’ neck and kisses him so hard their teeth clack together. Neither one of them cares.

By the time they separate, they’re both flushed and breathless and there are sparks shimmering beneath Harry’s skin. He forces himself to take a step back though, lifting a trembling hand to comb through his hair. “So, erm,” he pants, smoothing down his rumpled robes, “did you just come by to say hi?”

Equally as ruffled, Louis shakes himself and blows out an unsteady breath before replying, “No, I actually came to offer my help. I thought you might need to start covering some of the plants, so I gathered a bunch of blankets.” At Harry’s wide-eyed look, Louis pauses, then says slowly, “I figured... two people might be able to do it quicker than one?”

“You brought me blankets for my plants,” Harry whispers, inexplicably touched.

“I mean, it’s not a diamond ring,” Louis mumbles, but a pleased flush has worked its way up his cheeks.

“No, it’s _better_ ,” Harry insists. “You thought of my babies.”

Feeling a bit teary eyed, Harry throws himself against Louis and presses a smacking kiss to his mouth.

“I was going to have the students wrap them next week, but this way we can do it sooner and I can move on to the next unit instead. _Thank you_ , Lou. We should be able to do all of it in no time. Where are the blankets?”

Louis fishes his wand and a tiny parcel out of the pocket of his robes, then sets the little parcel on an empty bench. Pointing his wand at the little package, he mutters, “ _Engorgio_.”

Moments later, the tiny square enlarges until the bench is holding an enormous stack of sheets and blankets.

“I’ve got four more of them in my pocket,” Louis informs him, patting said pocket. “For the other greenhouses.”

“Perfect,” Harry enthuses. “Let’s get this done so we can get back to our chambers and I can thank you properly.”

He emphasizes his point by biting down on his bottom lip and winking. With a curse, Louis whips his wand toward the stack of blankets and immediately starts throwing out charms that have them flying across the greenhouse toward the varying plants. They finish all five greenhouses in record time, then race back up to the castle and their chambers, laughing hysterically as they go. Louis pushes Harry back against the door the moment they get inside his office, all traces of laughter gone as Louis presses him into the wood and hitches Harry’s legs around his waist.

They don’t make it down to dinner. Harry comes out of his post-sex to the sound of the office door shutting, then the door to Louis’ chambers swinging open. Louis stumbles in, arms laden with food from the kitchens, and kicks the door shut before crossing to the bed and dumping everything onto the blankets unceremoniously. They eat cold turkey sandwiches and sweet potato pie naked in the center of the bed, then, refreshed and rejuvenated, shove everything to the floor to make room for round two.

;;

Hogwarts and its residents make it through October and Halloween unscathed and in good spirits, but November brings with it the first snowfall, only days before the first Quidditch match of the season. Harry moves his first through fifth years into the castle for their classes, takes them instead up to the top of one of the towers, where a room has been turned into a center for aquatic plants. They learn about Gillyweed and Mermaid Grass and floating Canis Lilies with their brilliantly white flowers that growl and tremble every time someone approaches, and manage to stay warm despite the snow building up on the grounds outside. The sixth and seventh years remain out in the greenhouses, though, determined to finish their projects by the end of term.

Mid-November, Louis wakes Harry early Saturday morning with kisses peppered along the back of his neck. It’s early, he can feel it - earlier even than he would normally wake on a Saturday, but he knows why Louis is already up. Shaking his head, Harry rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in Louis’ pillow.

“Come on, babe,” Louis wheedles, fingers tripping down Harry’s spine where the blankets have slid down his waist. “I made you a full English that’s going cold right now.”

Harry opens one eye and turns his head to the side so he can gaze blearily up at Louis in suspicion. “You made a full breakfast?”

Louis nods, looking unabashedly self-satisfied.

“You didn’t pick it up from The Laughing Leprechaun?”

“ _No_ ,” Louis insists. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Besides,” he sighs, rolling his eyes, “if I had, Niall would spill to you the minute we saw him, and he would never let me live it down.”

Harry laughs into the pillow, then braces himself and rolls over, bumping into Louis along the way. Louis doesn’t move, just stays comfortably pressed against Harry’s side as he looks down at him, warm and expectant.

“You made me breakfast,” Harry murmurs, pleased and charmed.

Louis slides a hand across Harry’s belly, then pokes him in the sternum. “I did, and it’s going to go bad if you don’t get up right now.”

Harry hums consideringly, then slides a leg out from underneath the blankets, crooks his knee and lets his legs fall open in invitation. He tips his head to the side, purrs, “You sure I can’t change your mind about that Quidditch match?”

Louis’ eyes go dark as he rakes them down Harry’s body and he hesitates for a fraction of a second, but then he shakes himself out of it and says, “No! Stop trying to seduce me, Harold, and get your sweet arse out of bed, or I’m eating your portion too and you’ll have to go to the match hungry _and_ cold.”

With an almighty groan, Harry rolls away from Louis and sits up so he can throw his legs over the side of the bed. “ _Fine_ , fine. This is what I get for marrying a sports enthusiast.”

Louis swats at Harry’s naked bum as he passes, laughs, “Oh, piss off. As if you don’t love a good Quidditch match. And these are your students! Let’s go be supportive teachers.”

 

They eat breakfast together in the chilly kitchen with their feet tangled underneath their little scarred wooden table. The eggs are a bit overcooked and the toast is burnt, but the breakfast is satisfying and the sentiment makes it all taste that much better. Louis’ hard work doesn’t stop Harry from sneaking bits of sausage to Luna under the table, though, and he grins like a fool when he catches Louis doing the same with Salem.

Once they’ve cleaned the kitchen, they bundle up for the trek to the Quidditch pitch. It’s bitterly cold outside, the wind sharp and strong, turning their noses to icicles and cutting right through the wool of their gloves and coats. They apparate right outside the Hogwarts gates, then stroll inside, making their way across the grounds toward the Quidditch pitch as quickly as they can. The stands are almost full-up, but they find Liam, the Care of Magical Creatures professor, sitting with a cluster of professors near the announcer’s box and slide onto the bench between Liam and Iona.

“Merlin, it’s bloody freezing,” Louis shivers, burrowing closer to Liam. Harry bites his lip around a prickle of annoyance, even though he knows they can’t very well cuddle in public. Just another frustration to add to the mounting list.

Before he can dwell on it long, though, a whistle blows from down on the pitch, and Harry leans forward in his seat, grateful for the distraction. He watches through squinted eyes as a team in scarlet approaches a team in blue and black. The captains shake hands, then they all mount their brooms and, at the referee’s whistle, launch themselves into the air. A cheer goes up around the stadium, and Harry whistles along with them, all of his lingering sleepiness sliding away with the thrill of the match and support for his fellow Ravenclaws.

The bitter wind, its icy cold fingers working their way down the back of Harry’s robes, the bleak lack of sunlight - all of it is forgotten as the whole stadium watches the match avidly. It’s a close one. The Gryffindor keeper is exceptionally skilled, but the Ravenclaw beaters weave in and out of the rest of the players expertly, aiming bludger after bludger at the Gryffindor chasers and foiling their efforts time and again.

By the time they call a time out, it’s 60 to 20, Ravenclaw, and Harry’s fingers are frozen around the ledge of their booth. He groans happily when Louis produces a steaming thermos of tea and wraps his cold hands around the warm canister, steam clouding his vision as he inhales deeply and takes a grateful sip. It burns on its way down, but warms him from the inside-out immediately. Harry only coughs and splutters a little bit, shivers when Louis leans in to whisper, “I may have slipped a bit of Firewhiskey into it to really warm us up.”

Harry shakes his head at the fact that Louis brought alcohol to a school Quidditch match, but he can’t really complain, not when he feels warmer already, heat spidering down his limbs, right to the tips of his fingers and toes. He hands it back to Louis after taking a few more sips, then settles in to watch the rest of the match.

Gryffindor returns to the pitch with renewed fervor and makes a hard play for the quaffle. In the end, though, Ravenclaw’s seeker catches the snitch right out from under the Gryffindor keeper’s nose, and the match ends, 230 to 110.

The walk back to the Hogwarts gates is slow-going, as Louis won’t stop trudging despondently and grumbling about the loss. Once they’ve apparated home, though, Harry cheers him right up with an enormous lunch and a blowjob while Louis does the dishes. He only breaks two plates.

;;

The atmosphere around the castle shifts subtly from day to day as they approach December and Christmas holidays. The classes get a bit harder to control, meals get rowdier, and more and more students sneak out after curfew to meet in dark corridors and empty classrooms. It’s exhausting, keeping everyone in line, but they’ve got two weeks of holiday looming on the horizon, and that keeps Harry and Louis going.

The week before end of term exams, Harry is fast asleep in Louis’ chambers after a long night of planning the exams for each of his classes when someone starts pounding on Louis’ office door. He sits up in bed, heart thumping wildly in his chest, and is halfway across the room before he remembers he’s not supposed to be here.

“Shit,” he hisses, padding back over to the bed to poke Louis awake. “Lou, there’s someone at the door, you have to go answer it.”

Louis snuffles awake and sits up, rubbing his eyes sluggishly. His voice is blurry with sleep and confusion when he asks, “What? Wha’s wrong?”

But before Harry can repeat himself, the knock sounds again, followed by a muffled voice calling, “Louis! We need you, get up.”

Bemused, Louis clambers out of bed, waves Harry away from the doorway and out of sight, then heads out into his office to answer the door. Harry presses his eye to the crack between the door and the door frame, trying to see who’s there and hear what they want.

“Liam?”

“Hey, Louis,” Liam says, sounding exhausted and a bit frantic. “We need you, there’s been some sort of break in on the grounds and we’re not sure what it is. Higgins is asking for you.”

“Oh shit, yeah, of course. Here, wait in here and I’ll just go throw me kit on.”

Harry watches through the tiny crack as Liam follows Louis into his office and takes a seat in one of the chairs facing his desk. He moves away from the door as Louis heads back toward the room and shuts it behind them. Harry is about to ask what he thinks is going on when they hear Liam call, “Oh, and Louis? D’you think you could alert Harry? The break-in happened in one of the greenhouses.”

Harry curses under his breath, then hisses, “You have to distract him so I can sneak back to my office. He can’t know I’m in here.”

“Alright, let me get dressed first,” Louis whispers back. He flits around the room, pulling on trousers and a jumper, then tugging his winter coat on over it. He doesn’t bother with his robes, too much of a hindrance if he’s going to try and get across the snowy grounds in a hurry. Harry dresses as well, but leaves his boots off, tucks them under his arm instead. They make too much noise on the stone floors.

Bottom lip held between his teeth, Harry watches as Louis winks at him, then slips back out into the office, hears him say, “Oi, Liam, you know more than I do about what’s going on, come help me decide what to take out there with me.”

Harry peeks around the corner a moment later to find Louis and Liam bent over Louis’ box of Dark Magic detectors and tools, so he skirts hurriedly around Louis’ desk and out the office door as quickly as he can without making noise.

He’s just managed to close his office door silently and cross the room to his chambers, heart pounding so loud he’s certain someone must be able to hear it, when a rap sounds on his door. He waits a moment before responding, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice, “Yes?”

“Harry, it’s Louis and Liam,” comes Louis’ voice through the thick wood. “There’s been a break in in one of the greenhouses, we’re going to investigate and thought you might want to come along.”

“Just - just a minute, let me get dressed,” Harry calls. He rustles things around so it sounds like he’s getting ready, then stoops down to put his boots on.

Finally, hair tucked up into a bun, gloves and a beanie shoved hastily into his coat pocket, and wand in hand, Harry pulls the door open to find Louis looking at him in amusement and Liam smirking at him, like he knows something Harry doesn’t.

“That was fast,” Liam comments mildly as they head down the corridor toward the stairs.

Harry shoots a wide-eyed glance at Louis, then stammers, “Oh, well. I just - threw this on, it’s what I wore earlier today, I didn’t get a chance to put it away.”

Harry bites his lip around the lie. Anyone who knows Harry knows he’s fastidiously neat, but Liam doesn’t say a word. He just keeps right on smiling that infuriating smile. Harry wishes he knew what it meant.

It is absolutely, bone-shatteringly freezing outside. The night wind is like knives cutting straight through their clothing and right down to their cores as they slog through the snow that’s built up over the evening and half the night. They can see the faint glow of wand light down by what looks to be Greenhouse Two, and find Headmaster Higgins already there, along with the Gamekeeper, a cheery young man named Ed.

“Headmaster?” Harry asks, eyes wide as they come to a stop alongside the building and survey the damage. There is an enormous, jagged hole along one side of the greenhouse, shattered glass littering the ground both outside and inside, and, Harry can just make out, another hole on the other side of the building. “It looks as if whatever broke in also broke out...”

Harry trails off, voice growing thick with distress as he thinks about all of his plants and what might have happened to them.

“Yes,” Higgins sighs wearily. “It does appear so. Now that you’re all here, Ed, Louis, and I will go off in search of whatever, or _who_ ever, did this. You and Liam go inside and survey the damage.”

Harry watches, worried, as Louis takes off after the headmaster and Ed. Just before they disappear into the darkness, though, Louis glances back at Harry and throws him a quick wink. Setting his worry aside, Harry turns back to Liam, finds Liam watching him with that same maddening smirk on his face.

“What?” he asks, shorter than he had meant it to come out.

But Liam just shrugs cheerfully and says, “Nothing. They’ll be fine, Harry. Come on, let’s go see how your poor plants have fared.”

“ _Lumos_ ,” Harry whispers, igniting the end of his wand. He holds it aloft as he and Liam pick their way across the shards of glass and slip into the ruined building.

All of the plants that had occupied the first trough along the wall are now lying on the ground, a few trampled and torn from the dirt. Harry crouches down to see what the damage is, finds his Spiky Bushes waving their remaining spiked branches menacingly. A few have been trampled beyond repair, he finds, heart heavy, but he forces himself to move on and continue assessing. He can set the good plants to rights once they’re done and clean up the dead ones in the morning.

It seems that whatever crashed through the greenhouse was on the warpath, but stuck to a narrow trail. Just one trough of Moon Mushrooms was pushed aside, not even knocked over, as if whatever it was that had done the damage has lost some of its steam by breaking through the glass and his Spiky Bushes. The last row held a few juvenile Porcupine Bushes, which have been knocked out into the snow, but look whole and relatively healthy, and are already growing back missing quills.

“It’s not too bad,” Harry tells Liam, who’s been following him closely and holding his wand over their heads for added light. “Let’s just make sure that whatever did this hasn’t come back and hidden under one of the other troughs.”

The two of them are moving along the fringe of the building, wands held low so they can see underneath the troughs, when they hear the crunch of someone approaching, followed by, “Liam, they need you over by the edge of the forest. It’s a Graphorn - they’re not sure how it found its way to Hogwarts, but it must have gotten confused and gone on a rampage.”

Stunned, Liam says, “A _Graphorn_? How in the bloody -” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head and instead asks, “Have they subdued it? You can’t stun it with a spell, its hide is too thick.”

Louis grimaces. “Well, it seems the Graphorn is afraid of fire, so they’ve sort of got it... pinned.”

“Oh, bugger,” Liam mutters. “Alright, you help Hazza clean up then, I suppose. I’ll go help the Headmaster and Ed, we’ll have to figure out how to get the thing into a crate and contact the Ministry about it.”

“Hey,” Louis calls after Liam as he clambers through the hole in the wall and off into the snow. Liam pauses and half-turns back in question. “You could use it for a lesson before you call the Ministry, you know!”

Liam just makes a face, then steps around Greenhouse Three and vanishes.

They both stare after him for a moment, still sleepy and a bit shell-shocked from the night’s events, before Louis turns to Harry with a sigh and asks, “Alright, love?”

Harry shrugs, but the corners of his mouth pull down into a frown. “Aside from the walls, it looks like only a few of the Spiky Bushes were destroyed.”

“Well, that’s great!” Louis says brightly, turning to look around, himself. “We can get this place cleaned up in no time.”

Harry doesn’t reply, just looks sadly at the Porcupine Bushes, still sitting in the snow. He barely hears it as Louis approaches, only looks up when he rubs his gloved hands up and down Harry’s arms.

“Hey,” Louis says softly, ducking his head to try and meet Harry’s gaze. “I’m sorry about the Spiky Bushes. I’ll help you cultivate some new ones, yeah? You can tell me all about how to breed them and we’ll work on them together.”

A shaky smile spreads across Harry’s face and his heart lurches painfully in his chest. With a trembling laugh, Harry says, “I really love you, you know that?”

Louis heaves a put-upon sigh and rolls his eyes dramatically, replies, “I know, I’m pretty great.” He grins when he gets another laugh out of Harry, then cups his face with his thick, woolen gloves, says quietly, “Hey, let’s clean this mess up, then get back to bed, alright?”

Harry lifts his hands to circle Louis’ wrists, whispers back, “Yeah, alright.”

They use _Locomotor_ charms to set the Spiky Bushes back in their troughs and lift the troughs back onto the stands, then do the same for the Porcupine Bushes. Louis works on moving the Moon Mushrooms while Harry fills the tipped over troughs back up with dirt, then the two of them cast _Reparo_ spells to mend the glass walls of the greenhouse and seal it back up.

All in all, it only takes them about a half hour to set most of the damage to rights, though there are still some destroyed plants littering the ground. They debate over going to find the others to see if they need help, but in the end, Liam sends his Patronus - a shimmery, silvery St. Bernard - to let them know that they’ve managed to subdue the Graphorn, and that they should head back to the castle when they’re done.

The walk back toward the front doors of the castle seems to take forever. The wind is blowing against them and there’s fresh snow falling, and Harry hadn’t even thought to put on snow boots, so his leather ones have soaked completely through. He’s shivering by the time they get back, and Louis makes him stop just inside so he can shed his gloves and use a hot air charm to dry Harry’s boots and warm his feet.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers, so worn out he can barely think.

Louis just smiles at him and offers his hand. Harry hesitates for a moment, but then shrugs, removes his own glove, and takes Louis’ hand. It’s nearing four in the morning, there shouldn’t be anyone wandering the halls to catch them. They trudge slowly up the stairs, Harry’s heels clicking on the stone. Most of the portraits are sleeping, but a few whisper as they pass, curious eyes tracking the glow of their wands as they make their way up to their chambers.

Harry is already through the door to Louis’ office when he feels a tug on his hand, stopping him. “Hey, love, maybe you should set the alert charm on your door again. Just in case.”

“Oh, good idea,” Harry mumbles. He focuses the rest of his energy reserves on setting the charm, as it’s a finicky one. Only once he’s satisfied with it does he follow Louis back into his room.

The two of them strip down to nothing and fall into bed, too exhausted to do anything more than curl around each other and slip immediately back into sleep. Christmas holidays can’t come fast enough.


	3. Winter Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Christmas holidays, and a much needed break from the chaos that is Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so it turns out I lied. If you're not into mpreg, you should not read this chapter either, I'm sorry!! I cannot be stopped.

Steam billows suddenly from the smokestack atop the Hogwarts Express. A blaring whistle sounds, then the wheels chug to life and it starts to pull out of Hogsmeade Station. The scarlet train is packed to the brim with Hogwarts students on their way home for the holidays, noses pressed to the windows so they can watch Hogsmeade and the castle in the distance fall slowly out of sight. Only a handful have elected to stay in the castle for the break, and a few of the staff who live at Hogwarts year-round will be there to watch over them.

Not Harry and Louis, though.

The two of them watch the train pick up speed, then round a corner out of the station and vanish from sight. With the train goes a massive weight off Louis’ chest, and he heaves a sigh, hitches a duffle bag higher on his shoulder, then turns to Harry and asks, “Home?”

“Home,” Harry confirms, a slow grin spreading across his face. They’ve got two full weeks of vacation to savor, and they cannot wait. It’s not a long walk back to their house, but there’s a thick blanket of snow coating the ground and the wind is fierce, so they apparate rather than walk. Harry’s mum isn’t expecting them until tomorrow, leaving them with plenty of time to pack and relax.

Luna and Salem are on them the moment they walk in the door, winding between Louis’ legs and bounding back and forth from Louis to Harry, trying to get as much attention as they can. Laughing, Louis drops the duffle by the door and sinks to his knees so he can wrap his arms around Luna’s shoulders and let her snuffle happily in his ear. He wants to change out of his robes and could desperately use a cup of tea, but before he can get up, Salem perches on his shoulder, claws kneading at his back rather painfully, and Harry is giggling and snapping photos of them with his muggle camera. The room fills with the sounds of Salem’s content purrs, Luna’s soft whines every time Louis stops petting her, and the click of the camera shutter closing repeatedly, so Louis stays where he is, even smiles up at the camera for a few of the shots because he knows Harry likes that.

“As soon as we start packing, they’re going to know we’re going on a trip,” Louis says after a while, tugging Salem off his shoulder and onto his lap instead. He’s pretty sure Salem has punctured his skin several times, and his back is sore from hunching over so the cat could balance comfortably. “Salem will go into hiding and we won’t find him until we get back after the new year, if he figures us out.”

“I know,” Harry sighs, lowering the camera so he can plop down beside Louis on the floor. Excited that Harry is on her level now and she has someone else to beg for scratches behind her ears, Luna bumps her head against Harry’s chest so hard she nearly knocks him backward onto the floor. Louis manages to catch his shoulder just in time, though, and keeps him upright. Harry only wheezes a little bit and rubs at his chest, then quickly moves to pet Luna before she does it again. “We could put them outside while we pack, distract them while we get it all done, then let them back in afterward. We’ll just keep the bags in the closet until we leave so they can’t even see them.”

“That might work,” Louis muses. He looks down at Salem, smiles at the way his eyes have slipped shut in pure bliss while Louis rubs his ears. Harry always was good at solving puzzles. His clever little Ravenclaw.

He’s lost in his own mind, thinking about all of the sleep he and Harry are going to get over the next two weeks and how nice it will be to see their families again, when Harry makes a strange puffing noise and flops onto his back right there in the foyer, eyes shut and arms spread wide.

“I’m so _excited_ for this holiday,” he moans, beaming up at the ceiling.

Luna gets so excited that she starts to shuffle around Harry, nails tap-tapping on the wooden floors, and bends her head so she can sniff at his hair and shove her cold, wet nose in his face and ears. Harry starts to giggle uncontrollably and wiggle around, trying fruitlessly to escape Luna’s nose and her tongue as she tries to lick his face. Shaking his head, Louis lifts Salem in his arms so he can hide a soppy grin in his fur. Harry has curled into a ball on his side, arms over his head, his entire body trembling with the force of his laughter. When she realizes she can’t get to his face any longer, Luna gives up and flops onto the floor dramatically at Harry’s side, already ready for a nap.

Louis can relate. In fact, a midday nap with Harry sounds perfect. They have things to do first, though.

With a resigned sigh, Louis pushes to his feet, Salem still in his arms, and says, “Alright, love, let’s get this over with so we can cuddle after.”

Harry lowers his arms and cranes his neck so he can see Louis, asks, “Cuddles?”

“Yes,” Louis laughs, poking at the bottom of Harry’s foot with his toes. “Packing first, though, otherwise we’ll both be running around like raging Hippogriffs at midnight tonight. Luna, come. Let’s go outside!”

Luna hauls herself to her feet and trots after Louis obediently. Even Salem doesn’t put up a fuss when Louis sets him down on the deck out back, and the two of them wander off toward the small copse of trees in the back corner of the garden, where Louis knows a squirrel likes to tease them mercilessly. Once he’s made sure they’re both suitably distracted and has acquired two fresh cups of tea, he heads back to the bedroom to help Harry pack.

It’s only been a few minutes since they got up, but Harry is already immersed in packing by the time Louis gets there. There are two small duffels set out on the bed, and clothes are flying across the room, folding themselves in mid-air, and dropping neatly into one of the waiting bags.

“I’ve got you two pairs of jeans, two jumpers, trackies, three shirts, and a week’s worth of pants. Mum will insist on doing the washing at least every other day while we’re there, so I don’t want to overpack.”

“That sounds fine,” Louis says mildly, eyebrows raised as he just stands there and observes Harry’s efficiency and skill at charms. Besides the clothes, there are shoes walking, empty, across the floor from the closet and toiletries marching in from the bathroom. Everything stops at the end of the bed and sails neatly into the other bag, then both duffels zip themselves shut and fly across the room and into the closet. With a flick of his wand, Harry shuts the closet door firmly behind them so that Salem won’t be able to detect a hint of their plans and have the forethought to hide.

Hands on his hips, Harry surveys the room, turning in a slow circle, then says, “I think that’s all we need.”

“Did you pack my green jumper?”

“Yep!” Harry nods.

“My gray Chucks?”

“Got ‘em.”

“That fancy shampoo you just bought that smells like lemons?”

“Done.”

“Lube?”

Harry slides Louis a sly look at that and says, “As if I’d forget that. I’ve got my _Adversus fordus_ potion, too,” he adds patting his tummy. “I need to take it tomorrow night.”

“Alright. Well, good,” Louis says, satisfied, before declaring, “then we’re done.”

Before Harry can move off to do anything more, Louis swoops across the room, grabs him around the waist, and tosses him bodily onto the bed. He lets out an undignified squawk as he bounces, limbs flailing every which way, but he goes pliant as soon as Louis crawls across the bed and settles on top of him, pressing him into the mattress.

Everything goes soft and quiet around them as Louis ducks his head to rub their noses together. “Hi,” he whispers, meeting Harry’s eyes. Everything is blurry this close up, but Harry is breathtakingly beautiful, just the same.

“Hello,” Harry murmurs in response, lifting his arms to wrap them loosely around Louis’ neck. He tips his chin up, asking silently for a kiss that Louis is only too happy to give him.

“I’m really excited for this holiday,” Louis whispers into the kiss.

Harry sighs and whispers back, “Me, too.”

He wiggles happily when Louis rolls them onto their sides, then cuddles immediately into his chest, tucking his head up under Louis’ chin, soft and warm and a perfect fit. It’s been eleven years, and this still makes Louis’ stomach twist and his heart flutter ridiculously in his chest. Humming contentedly, Louis tucks Harry’s knees between his own and slides a hand into his hair, tugging his curls and scratching lightly at his scalp until he feels Harry go loose in his arms, fingers stilling in their path across his back and breath going slow and even. Only then does he let himself relax and drift off.

;;

Traveling from Hogsmeade to Cheshire with a big dog and an unhappy cat is not easy. Over the years, they’ve had to work out a way to get Salem into a pet carrier and Luna on a short enough leash that they can get to and from their holidays by Floo, since apparating with them is out of the question and they can’t exactly get Luna onto a broomstick. They’ve been taking Luna and Salem with them to Harry’s parents every few months for the past three years, but Luna still gets jittery and nervous when Louis tosses the Floo Powder into the fireplace and the flames turn their telltale emerald green.

“It’s alright, girl,” Louis murmurs, patting her on the head before he tightens his grips on the bag over his shoulder and Luna’s leash, steps into the whirling flames, and shouts, “The Twist residence, Cheshire.”

The cool flames lick harmlessly at the fabric of Louis’ jumper, and Luna presses herself tightly against his side as they begin to twirl and spin, flashing across fireplace after fireplace, until they’re pitched forward into a large, inviting living room filled with bright winter sunlight and plush, overstuffed sofas.

“Darling!” a woman exclaims before he’s even managed to right himself, rushing forward to pull Louis into her arms.

She smells like vanilla cupcakes and feels warm and familiar. Louis relaxes into the embrace immediately. He buries a smile in her shoulder and murmurs, “Hello, Anne. How are you, love?”

“Oh, I’m wonderful. Even better, now that you’re here. Is Harry following along after you? Poor Salem, I bet he’s put up a fuss, but he’ll be right as rain once he’s played a bit with Dusty and Dotty.” Harry’s mum barely pauses to take a breath, just reaches out to scratch behind Luna’s ears and fiddle with Louis’ hair, continues, “Oh, look at you, handsome boy, I love your hair like this. Let’s go on and have a cuppa before I pop out to the shops, Harry can join us when he gets here.”

Louis unhooks Luna’s leash so she can trot off and familiarize herself with the house again, then follows Anne to the kitchen. With a wave of her wand, she’s got a kettle on the stove and three tea cups sailing across the kitchen to settle on the table.

“Robin just left a few minutes ago, he’s working a bit today so he can take off the day after Boxing Day and come with us to your mum’s this time. What would you like to drink, dear?” Anne asks, rattling a basket of various types of tea.

Shrugging, Louis settles in his usual seat and says, “I’ll have whatever you’re having, thank you.”

A soft thump comes from the living room and, without blinking, Anne raises her voice and calls out, “And what flavor tea would you like, darling?”

Harry is breathless as he walks into the kitchen, and there are faint scratches across the backs of his hands from where Salem must have gotten him. “Anything without caffeine, please.”

Anne’s hands still where they’re rooting through the collection of tea bags, and she lifts her head. Eyebrows raised, she eyes him up and down, then says sharply, “Harry. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“What?” he asks, confused, as he slides into the seat beside Louis.

Louis takes his hand immediately and pulls it into his lap. Fishing his wand out of his pocket, he aims it at the scratches along Harry’s hand and wrist and whispers, “ _Episkey_.”

The skin knits back together immediately, a bit of dried blood the only evidence that there was ever an injury. Satisfied, Louis lifts Harry’s hand to his mouth and brushes a kiss across his knuckles. He freezes, though, Harry’s hand still pressed to his lips, and his heart drops right into his stomach when he hears Anne state, “You’re pregnant.”

There’s a long, drawn-out pause, then Harry says, “ _What_?”

Louis’ head shoots up so fast, he hears a joint crack. His head is swimming and his stomach has tied itself into too many knots. Harry hasn’t said anything! He would have noticed, surely -

“You said you don’t want caffeine, you’re looking a bit peaky, and don’t think I haven’t noticed the size of your jumper, young man,” Anne chides, waving a finger at Harry.

“ _Mum_. It’s winter and I’m _tired_! I’m not pregnant, I promise. I’m still on the Adversus potion, no worries there.”

Harry looks so baffled, Louis almost wants to laugh. He’s just ridden an emotional rollercoaster - gone from peaceful and calm to shocked, to irritated Harry hadn’t told him, to elated, then finally vaguely disappointed, all in the space of about two minutes. He’s exhausted.

Anne makes a face, then, and says, a definite note of disappointment in her voice, “Oh. Well. Sorry, then, you just gave me a bit of a scare.”

“You gave _me_ a scare,” Louis laughs, trying to break the sudden tension in the room. It’s a sensitive subject, one they’ve discussed countless times since the very moment they started dating. They both want kids desperately, but they had agreed to wait a few years once Harry had been offered his position at Hogwarts. They just need to settle in, get comfortable in their positions. And anyway, the Headmaster is still unaware of their relationship.

“I’m sorry!” Anne starts, setting the basket of tea down and walking toward them, “The two of you have just been together for so long now... but I know you’re both so busy. It’s best to wait, really.” She pauses by Harry’s chair so she can kiss the top of his head and say, “Hi, baby, it’s lovely to see you, I’ve missed you.”

Harry wraps his free arm around Anne’s middle and returns her hug, then settles back in his seat once she skirts the table to sit across from them.

“Alright, Louis, tell us about first term,” Anne says cheerfully. “Any major mishaps, or were the children all lovely?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know about _all_ of them,” Louis laughs, grateful for the subject change, and even more grateful when the kettle begins to whistle.

He steals a quick look at Harry while Anne bustles off to make their tea, finds him staring down at his lap, brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down into a frown. Unable to bear the thought of Harry being upset for even a moment, Louis squeezes Harry’s hand and brings it back up to his lips, turns it over so he can press a soft, lingering kiss to the center of his palm.

The smile Harry offers him is small, but genuine. Louis reaches out with his other hand so he can rub his thumb along the dark smudges underneath Harry’s eyes. “Hey,” he whispers, leaning in so he can drop a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth. “What do you say to a nap once your mum leaves, and a bottle of wine just between the two of us later?”

He feels Harry’s smile widen against his own mouth and his chest unknits just a bit when Harry whispers back, “Is it later yet?”

;;

The house is still around them, their bedroom quiet and dim. It’s dark out, just gone midnight, and the only sound in the room is that of their breathing and the distant chirp of crickets in the trees out back.

“You know,” Louis says thoughtfully, cogs turning sluggishly in his head, “it wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

“What wouldn’t?” Harry mumbles, words slurring together.

He’s sprawled out sideways across the bed, head on Louis’ chest and feet hanging off the edge, dressed only in a pair of pale yellow pants with tiny rainbows all over them. Louis is still fully dressed, but he’s at least got his head on a proper pillow. He’s not _quite_ as drunk as Harry is, had let him have most of the wine after dinner, but he’s still pleasantly tipsy. He’s got one hand buried in Harry’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and the other resting on Harry’s stomach.

To emphasize his point, Louis taps the pads of his fingers against Harry’s tummy and clarifies, “A baby.”

He feels Harry’s stomach contract underneath his hand as he sucks in a breath, forces his eyes open so he can tip his chin down and see what Harry is doing, what his facial expression is at the moment. Harry has his head turned to face Louis, eyes wide and unfocused and mouth hanging open.

“Lou,” he starts, hiccupping a bit, then bursts into giggles. “Lou, I think - I think we should talk about this when we’re both sober. ‘M not really thinking straight at the moment.”

Suddenly completely exhausted, Louis heaves a sigh and says, “Yeah, you’re right. ‘M tired.”

“Me, too,” Harry forces out around a yawn. Without bothering to straighten himself out on the bed, Harry rolls onto his side, head still resting on Louis’ stomach, and curls up into a ball, fists stacked underneath his chin. His eyes slide shut immediately, and within seconds, his mouth has gone slack, breaths evened out as his entire body relaxes.

He looks so sweet like this, lips parted, eyelashes casting long shadows against his cheeks, that Louis can’t bear to disturb him in order to get his own clothes off. Resigned, Louis throws a hand out to try and find his wand on the bedside table, waves it lazily and mutters an extinguishing spell to put out the torches. The room is plunged into darkness, the only sounds those of Harry’s soft, even breathing and his own heart thrumming in his chest. It’s easy to imagine it, like this, the room cast in shadow and Harry’s belly scrunched up from the position he’s laying in. Easy to imagine how he would look with a rounded belly, full of a life they made together, and it makes Louis’ heart beat just a bit faster, makes his fingertips tingle and his chest ache.

Yes, he thinks tiredly, settling his hand back on Harry’s waist and trying to push the image to the back of his mind so he can go to sleep. They’ll talk about it later.

;;

Louis and Harry spend the days leading up to Christmas helping Anne cook and just lounging around and enjoying their free time. It’s lovely, here in Cheshire. The house is comfortable and big enough that Harry and Louis can escape if they want a bit of privacy, and Anne and Robin have a sizeable expanse of property behind their house, plenty of space to have impromptu footie matches and chase Luna around until she’s too exhausted to try and play with Dusty.

During the summer, Robin sets up an enormous hammock in the back garden, Harry’s favorite place to relax, but it’s too cold to lay out at the moment, the entire property covered in a fine layer of fluffy snow. That doesn’t stop them, though. The two of them huddle together on the porch swing underneath a thick blanket after supper every night, pressed together from shoulder to foot with their hands wrapped around steaming mugs of tea as they listen to cricket-song and watch the stars wink to life. It’s wonderfully relaxing, and by the second day of their holiday, Louis already feels rejuvenated, relaxed and in tune with Harry in a way he hasn’t felt since the school year and all of its accompanying chaos began.

The morning of Louis’ birthday, he wakes to find Salem asleep in Harry’s spot, sprawled out on his back with all four legs in the air. He’s adorable, and Louis takes a moment to bury his face in Salem’s belly fluff and tickle under his chin, but he’s not Harry. Groaning, Louis rolls out of bed so he can pull on a pair of trackies and wash up, then go find his husband. He wants his birthday kisses.

He finds Harry ten minutes later, bent over the open oven door as he checks on what looks to be a pan of muffins. The kitchen smells heavenly, a mouth-watering mixture of vanilla, orange zest, and bacon, and Harry’s arse is in the air, tempting Louis way too much when there are other people in the house. He waits until Harry has shut the oven door to walk up behind him and slide his arms around Harry’s waist, forgoing grabbing at his arse. For now.

“Lou!” Harry gasps in surprise, tummy trembling a little when Louis flattens his palms against it and tugs Harry back against him. “I didn’t even hear you walk in.”

“‘S because I’ve got the stealth of a nundu,” Louis growls playfully, nipping at Harry’s ear. He thinks of the giant leopard-like creature he had read about in his Care of Magical Creatures textbook in year two, sleek and wily and able to fell whole villages in one go.

“A kneazle, more like,” Harry giggles. “Now don’t distract me, or your muffins will burn,” he chides, patting the back of Louis’ hand, but he tips his head to the side to give Louis better access anyway.

Humming appreciatively, Louis kisses his way down the line of Harry’s neck, then buries his face in the curve of his shoulder and squeezes him even closer, mumbles against Harry’s warm skin, “Good morning, darling.”

“I meant for you to sleep in a bit longer,” Harry sighs, jostling Louis a bit as he turns in his arms. Louis just shrugs and leans in to press a kiss to the tip of Harry’s nose.

“Well, then you should have stayed in bed with me,” he points out, kissing underneath Harry’s eye, then along the curve of his jaw. There’s a streak of flour across his forehead and even more of it dusting the ends of his curls, and he smells of citrus and vanilla extract. Louis wants to eat him up.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, knocking their foreheads together. “D’you know what today is?”

Louis’ heart flutters ridiculously in his chest and he can’t help the smile that stretches across his face. “What?”

“Christmas Eve! Santa comes tonight.”

Harry manages to hold a straight face for all of twenty seconds before he has to bite down on his bottom lip to stifle a giggle, and Louis gasps in mock outrage. “You cheeky little arse!” Louis pinches at Harry’s hips so he wiggles away, laughing outright now, and huffs, “Just for that, Santa is going to be the _only_ one coming tonight.”

Harry just hums, unconcerned, and bends to check the muffins again. “You’ll give in,” he says over his shoulder, a thread of smugness in his voice. “I give you an hour, tops.”

Louis snorts, but it’s only for effect. He knows Harry is right, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him. Especially not after he wiggles his bum for emphasis and starts singing _A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love_ , just loud enough for it to carry across the kitchen.

Because he knows his husband and knows Harry likes to make statements, Louis doesn’t press for a birthday wish, instead sits quietly at the table to watch Harry as he flits around the kitchen, pulling down dishes and taking out ingredients. It looks a bit like chaos, but Louis knows that every move Harry makes, every utensil he touches, is carefully calculated and has a purpose.

Within fifteen minutes, there are eggs frying on the hob, sausages sizzling in a second skillet, and blueberry muffins cooling on the windowsill. There’s an entire pot of tea brewing, bacon crisping in the oven, and Harry in the midst of it all, dressed only in a pair of tiny, bright orange shorts and a frilly apron that says ‘kiss the cook’ in enormous, hot pink block letters.

Once everything is ready, Harry floats it all over to the table with a hovering charm and a warning of, “Don’t touch yet.”

Louis snatches his hand back from where he’d already been reaching for a slice of bacon and watches, curious, as Harry moves back over to the counter and shields something from view. When he turns back around a minute later, he has a plate in his hands, and right in the center of the plate is a shimmering birthday cake shaped like a snitch, right down to the delicate golden wings sprouting from either side. When Louis looks closer, he realizes that the wings are upside-down, and that each feather is actually a candle, flickering softly in the bright morning light.

“Wow,” Louis breathes, watching, rapt, as Harry carries it carefully to the table. The feathers are so detailed they look real, and they aren’t melting, despite the flames burning at each delicate point.

“It’s a strange breakfast,” Harry starts, looking around at the spread once he’s safely set the cake down on the table, but Louis doesn’t let him finish.

He wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist and yanks so he plops down in Louis lap, then cups Harry’s face in his hands, says firmly, “This is the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”

“You haven’t even eaten it yet,” Harry protests, but it’s weak, belied by a massive grin that has his cheeks rounding out against Louis’ palms.

“I’m going to eat _you_ ,” Louis growls. It was meant to be playful, but instead comes out like a promise. Harry shivers and they stare silently at each other for a moment.

Finally, Harry shakes himself and says, voice gone husky, “Right, well let’s eat before it all goes cold.” He turns in Louis’ lap, facing him as much as he can in this position, and says softly, a warm smile curving his lips, “Happy birthday, Louis.”

Feeling warm, full to the brim with love and happiness, Louis squeezes Harry’s hips and draws him into a kiss. “Thank you,” he whispers against Harry’s mouth. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” Harry murmurs, kissing him again, then again, and one more time before groaning and pushing himself back with a hand flat on Louis’ chest. “Stop distracting me, I’m _hungry_.”

He slides off of Louis’ lap and onto the chair next to him, but hooks his foot around Louis’ ankle under the table. Louis always feels more at ease when they’re touching in some way. They each eat their fill - and then some - of the eggs, bacon, and sausages, then follow them up with the blueberry muffins. They decide to leave the cake whole, though, and have it with the rest of the family after dinner. After cleaning up and slipping some leftover bacon to the dog and cats, they both pass out on the sofa, Harry stretched out with his face buried in the cushions and Louis curled around him, a whisper of his promise still simmering under his skin.

 

Dinner that night is a raucous affair. Gemma arrives with her husband and their son, a chubby little toddler who is absolutely fascinated by everything Harry does. Louis can relate.

Jack refuses to eat or play or go to sleep unless Harry is holding him, which makes eating dinner a bit difficult, but he’s finally passed out in Harry’s arms and Harry has managed to set him in his crib without waking him, they break out wine and sit around the table for hours, drinking and laughing and telling stories into the wee hours of the morning.

It’s gone 2am by the time they all make their way to their rooms, but Louis has never been more awake. He’s grateful that they’re on the top floor, set apart from the rest of the family. It’s three flights of stairs every time they need something from their room, but it also means that he can pin Harry to the door the moment they get inside the room and listen to him moan without needing to shush him. He sets a _Muffliato_ charm on the door, anyway, just in case.

He’s barely touched Harry yet, has only caged him in against the door with hands on either side of his head and his feet framing Harry’s, but Harry is already clutching at the back of his shirt, fingers twisting and pulling the fabric out of shape with a sudden lurch of desperation. They both remember Louis’ promise.

“Louis,” he breathes, hitching his hips forward in an attempt to make contact. Color is already staining his cheeks, both from the wine and from Louis, and his breaths are coming out in heavy pants that have his chest heaving.

Louis holds off for a minute, loves the way Harry’s cheeks flush and his eyes go wide and glossy, lips bitten a deep red as he chews on them in anticipation. When he finally gives in and presses his body to Harry’s, pushes him against the unforgiving wood of the door and rolls his hips against Harry’s, Harry lets out a long, low moan, head falling back against wood with a dull thump. He’s always responsive, always eager for Louis, but wine makes it even easier to rile him up.

Louis can feel the line of Harry’s dick against his hip, already hard and straining against the zip of his jeans, and he grinds forward, giving Harry some of the pressure he’s seeking. He lets out the most exquisite noise high in his throat, so Louis does it again, lets Harry rub off on him until his whole body is trembling and he can barely catch his breath.

Then, when the telltale flush has worked its way down his chest and his moans have gone scratchy, fingers clutching wildly at Louis’ shoulders, he eases off, backs away so Harry’s hands fall to his sides and they’re no longer touching. He doesn’t want Harry to come yet, wants to be inside of him more than he wants to _breathe_ at this current moment in time.

The sight of Harry like this, nearly undone, with his shirt gaping open, chest heaving, hair a wild mess tumbling down his shoulders, has Louis’ blood singing in his veins.  He can see the outline of Harry’s cock in his jeans, a small wet patch at the tip where he’s been leaking, can see the way his hands are unsteady as they push through his hair and scratch restlessly against his thighs. He doesn’t say a word, though, just watches Louis silently, eyes wide and luminous in the dark room while he waits.

When Louis beckons Harry toward him with a crook of his finger, Harry nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to get to him. Louis steadies him with hands on his hips, then uses that grip to draw him over to the bed and sit him down on the edge. He undresses Harry slowly, the backs of his knuckles brushing against Harry’s overheated skin as he unbuttons his shirt and draws it over his shoulders. Harry falls back onto the bed at the slightest press of Louis’ fingers against his chest, sucks in a sharp breath when Louis then tucks them into the waistband of his jeans and pops the button.

Feeling a bit wicked, Louis deliberately trails the tip of his finger along the underside of Harry’s cock as he drags the zipper down, relishing the way Harry shivers and moans and twists against the blankets, hands curling into fists around the duvet. He doesn’t actually mean to tease while taking Harry’s trousers off, but it takes him some time to work the denim down his legs and over his feet, nonetheless, and Harry is shaking, desperate, by the time Louis has managed to tug them all the way off.

Every centimeter of skin he touches trembles and has more precome beading at the tip of Harry’s cock where it’s laying against his belly, so that by the time Louis has successfully discarded Harry’s jeans, he’s a mess. Louis takes pity on him and shucks his own clothes as quickly as he can, then crawls over Harry and draws him into a kiss.

Harry kisses like he’s drowning, like Louis is his lifeline, and the only thing that matters is that they’re touching everywhere - mouth on mouth, Harry’s hands on Louis’ back, Harry’s legs hooked around the backs of Louis’, Louis’ hands in his hair. Louis doesn’t think Harry realizes that he’s rutting against him, that there are soft, desperate noises falling from his mouth with every grind of his hips, but Louis wants to give him what he’s asking for, needs to be inside of him as soon as possible.

Harry whines when Louis sits up and he reaches for him immediately, but Louis just pins his wrists down with one hand and uses his other to summon the lube. The expression on Harry’s face when he looks down is enough to have his cock twitch, and Louis drops the lube to the bed so he can wrap his hand around the base of his dick and steady himself. He looks completely blissed out, hands twisting and flexing against Louis’ grip but not trying to break it, never trying to break free. His eyes are dark and wide, unfocused as they stare blindly up at the dark ceiling, and he’s panting, chest heaving with every breath.

“Fuck, look at you,” Louis whispers, just staring at him in awe for a moment. It takes a minute for him to collect himself, to remember that he’s on a mission here. “Alright, gorgeous,” he says, climbing off of Harry and tapping his side. “Roll over for me, baby.”

Harry does as Louis asked, rolls onto his belly and crawls up the bed a bit so he can prop his head up on a pillow. Louis grabs another pillow and maneuvers Harry’s hips up so he can tuck it underneath him and make him more comfortable. The moment Louis lets go of him, Harry melts into the mattress and spreads his legs, waiting for Louis to make the next move.

Louis doesn’t keep him waiting long. He settles on his stomach between Harry’s legs and slides his hands up the backs of his thighs, kneading at the tense muscles for a moment before ducking in and licking over Harry’s hole. Harry lets loose a moan so loud, Louis’ certain the whole house heard it, even through the _Muffliato_ charm, but he’s too far gone to care. He _loves_ this, loves eating Harry out, loves how much Harry enjoys it and how quickly and easily he can take him apart with just his tongue.

He starts out with flat, broad strokes, working Harry up as he goes, until his entire body is shaking and he’s twisting his fingers in the sheets so hard, Louis can hear the fabric stretching and threads tearing. Then he digs his thumbs into Harry’s cheeks, stretching him open, and pushes the tip of his tongue past Harry’s rim. Harry must have turned his face into the pillow, because his whimpers and moans are muffled now as he works his hips back against Louis’ face, trying to get him to go faster, deeper. Louis gives him what he wants, fucking into him with his tongue until Harry is shaking uncontrollably and letting out a steady stream of curses and pleas. His technique is messy, wine and firewhiskey sloppy, but Harry doesn’t seem to care, just fucks himself back on Louis’ tongue until Louis can feel every muscle in Harry’s body tense, right on the brink of orgasm, and he pulls back.

Harry whimpers with the loss, trembling, thighs twitching with the effort of holding himself up, of not coming. Louis sits up so he can find the discarded bottle of lube, whispering soft words of encouragement and petting a hand down Harry’s back. His skin is slick with sweat, his entire body flushed a rosy pink as he shakes and shivers underneath Louis’ palms.

Once Harry has stopped trembling and Louis is sure he won’t come the moment he starts to open him up, he slicks three fingers, then tosses the lube aside. He can feel Harry tense when he uses his clean hand to spread his cheeks again, whispers soothing nonsense as he strokes the pad of his finger over Harry’s hole, already wet from Louis’ mouth, teasing him just a little before pushing inside. Harry’s body goes taut, breath caught in his chest as he adjusts, as he visibly holds himself still and tries not to come. After a long, drawn-out moment, he releases the tension all at once, sinking into the mattress and waiting patiently for Louis to move.

“That’s a good boy,” Louis croons, squeezing his hip in encouragement. He opens him up slowly, fucks Harry with just one finger until he’s mewling and rutting against the pillow underneath his hips. When he adds a second finger, Harry’s soft, pleased noises turn to moans and he starts to push back onto Louis’ fingers, trying to get Louis to move faster.

“More,” he groans into the pillow, then turns his head so he can say it more clearly. “More, _please_ , Lou, I need -”

Louis gives him what he wants and adds a third finger, leaning down to nibble at the soft curve of his arse as he stretches him open and rubs the pads of his fingers against Harry’s prostate. Harry’s face is buried in the pillow, voice so muffled Louis can’t tell what he’s saying past a breathless litany of moans. He doesn’t want to hurt Harry, wants him to be fully prepped before he fucks him, but after a few minutes, Harry turns his head again so he can bite out, “Louis, if you don’t fuck me now, this is all going to be over before you even get a chance.”

Louis can’t help the laugh that slips out, and Harry kicks a foot out, fingers twisting in the pillowcase as he lets out a frustrated groan. “Alright, shh, I’ve got you,” Louis soothes, petting a hand down Harry’s side as he pulls his fingers out and reaches for the lube again.

He makes quick work of his cock, long past the point of being ready, then shuffles up the bed so he can drape himself over Harry and line himself up. He’s not going to make Harry hold himself up on his hands and knees, he’s been on the edge for far too long, is still flushed and shivering underneath him.

“Ready, love?” he asks, twirling a lock of Harry’s hair around his finger and tugging gently.

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry gasps, lifting his hips so the head of Louis’ cock catches against his rim.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis hisses, the sensation too much, and then he just pushes in, burying himself inside of Harry in one breathless thrust.

It feels so good - _Harry_ feels so good - that his arms are trembling so much he can’t hold himself up any longer. Louis settles over Harry’s back and gives him a moment to adjust, listens to the drag of air as Harry inhales deep, ragged breaths and feels his back expand and contract against his chest as Harry fights for air.

Once he’s started to calm, breaths slowing and evening out, Louis digs his toes into the mattress for leverage and pulls out, then thrusts back in. Harry’s hands scrabble about on the bed in search of his, so Louis covers the backs of them and twines their fingers together, just the way Harry likes. Harry loves this position, Louis knows, loves the feeling of being pinned to the bed, of having to surrender himself to Louis and trust him to get him off; especially loves the added connection of holding hands like this, their fingers locked together as Louis holds him down.

He starts out slow, with shallow, even thrusts that have Harry’s grip on his fingers tightening and soft noises spilling from his mouth. When he picks it up, pushing up onto his hands so he can get a better angle, a sharper thrust, Harry’s back arches, shoulders hunching and head turning to the side so he can gasp and moan, a litany of pleas and praise and endless whispers of Louis’ name.

He can always tell when Harry starts to get close, can tell by the noises he makes and the way he starts to shake and clench around him, feet shuffling against the bed and hands breaking loose from Louis’ so he can tug at his own hair. When he knows Harry is right there, right on the edge, Louis shifts up onto his knees and pulls Harry’s hips up off the pillow so he can get a hand on him, tugs him off in counterpoint to his thrusts.

Already on edge, it only takes a couple of strokes before Harry comes so hard he streaks all the way up the bed, steals Louis’ breath with the way he clenches around him. He’s so close, himself, pleasure spiralling down his limbs and heat pooling in his belly, that all it takes is a few more thrusts before he spilling inside of Harry. He fucks Harry through it, thrusts erratic and grip on his hips so hard he’s sure to leave bruises. Harry loves it though, loves the reminder left behind for days after, loves that he can fit his fingers over the marks and press down, remember exactly how he felt in that moment.

Spent and exhausted and not wanting to crush Harry, Louis rolls them onto their sides, tugs Harry back against his chest as he fights to catch his breath and waits to regain feeling in his limbs. He pets a hand down Harry’s chest and over his stomach in broad, soothing strokes while his trembles subside, then tucks a leg over his thighs and pulls him even closer.

“Hey,” Louis whispers, nuzzling at the back of Harry’s neck. “You okay?”

Harry’s answer is an indistinct mumble, and Louis laughs.

“What was that, love?”

It takes him a moment, but then Harry manages to croak, “Can’t feel m’ legs. ‘M perfect.” He grabs Louis’ hand and settles it on his stomach, their fingers interlocked, and wiggles back against him with a soft, contented noise. “Happy birthday, Lou, love you. Don’t leave me.”

“Hazza, we’re filthy,” Louis protests, but Harry just shrugs. “The blankets...”

“In a few minutes,” Harry mumbles, voice gone slow and deep. He’s about to fall asleep, Louis knows it, and if they sleep like this, they’ll be disgusting in the morning, probably stuck to the sheets with dried come.

Resigned, Louis waits until he’s sure Harry is asleep, breaths gone slow and deep, then gently disentangles himself from Harry. He slides slowly off the bed and tiptoes out of the room and to the bathroom across the hall, skipping over the floorboard that creaks so he doesn’t risk waking anyone up. He needs to wipe them both down, then clean the sheets underneath Harry before he can sleep.

Exhaustion dragging at his limbs, Louis cleans himself off in the bathroom, then dashes back across the hall and slips back into their room as quietly as he can manage. Harry mumbles and whines a bit as Louis maneuvers him around, trying to get as much of the come and sweat off him as he can, but he stays asleep, limbs gone loose and noodle-like with exhaustion and exertion.

Louis ends up having to use _Tergeo_ charms to clean off the sheets as best he can, for now, but it’s good enough. Once he’s satisfied and has gotten rid of the mess, Louis climbs back into bed and wraps himself around Harry, smiling at the way Harry wiggles back into his embrace, even in sleep.

Tomorrow is Christmas and the day after, they’re traveling to Louis’ mum’s house for two full, hectic days. They’re going to need their rest.

;;

The nice thing about not having children old enough to understand Christmas in the house is that Harry and Louis get to have a bit of a lie-in on Christmas morning. Harry shakes Louis awake just after 10am and drags him into the shower so they can sleepily scrub themselves clean. Just as Louis had thought, there are fingertip-shaped bruises littering Harry’s hips, and he hums when Louis presses his fingers into the small purple marks, shivering despite the heat of the water cascading over their heads.

They really should finish up and get downstairs, but Harry looks so pretty like this, wet hair hanging halfway down his back, skin flushed from the water and the way Louis’ fingers are digging into his soft skin, and it has want crawling along his nerves, need seeping into his veins. Harry goes easily when Louis grips his hips and turns him to face the shower wall, then crowds him against it.

“I don’t have my wand, so you’re going to have to stay quiet,” Louis murmurs. Harry nods, eyes going dark and cheeks flushing a dark pink, and twists his head back for a kiss. Louis parts his lips with his tongue, swallowing Harry’s moan when Louis tugs his hair and slides a hand up to scrape his nails across his nipples.

“Shh,” Louis whispers, easing back and reaching for the shower door. “I think I have some lube in my bag, don’t move.”

Harry lets out a soft whine, fingers twitching against the tiles, but he turns his face, pressing his warm cheeks against the cool porcelain, and waits impatiently while Louis clambers out of the shower and rustles through his toiletry bag for the travel bottle of lube he knows is in there somewhere. He finds it buried underneath a bottle of shaving cream and doesn’t waste time getting back in the shower and plastering himself to Harry’s back. Louis presses a kiss to the top of Harry’s shoulder and slips a hand around his side so he can wrap it around Harry’s dick, finds him already hard and leaking at the tip.

Humming appreciatively, Louis strokes his hand up Harry’s cock and thumbs at the head, spreading precome down the shaft. He nibbles along the back of Harry’s neck and up to the sensitive spot behind his ear, laughs when Harry whines and says, “Lou, come on. We’re short on time, no need to butter me up. I’m ready to go.”

He leans back against Louis, rubbing his arse against Louis’ erection, and Louis’ stomach clenches. Pleasure sparks along his spine and tingles in his fingers and toes. He gives Harry’s dick one more stroke, then lets go and steps back so he can squeeze some lube out onto his hand. Before he gets a chance to, though, Harry snatches the bottle from him and slicks up his own fingers.

“You take too long,” he says shortly, before propping one of his legs up on the ledge of the tub and twisting a hand back to slide the tip of his finger over his own hole.

Louis curses and takes another step back so he can watch Harry finger himself open. He’s going too fast, teeth sunk into his lip to stifle the noises spilling from his throat, but Louis gets it. There’s urgency simmering underneath his own skin, as well, and he strokes himself lazily while he watches, eyes locked on the place where Harry’s fingers are fucking into his own body, ears attuned to the soft noises he keeps making and the slick sound his fingers are making, just barely audible over the running water.

Harry works himself up to three fingers at a hurried pace and barely gives himself time to adjust before he’s pulling them out and reaching back for Louis. Louis lets Harry slick him up, choking back a moan when Harry slides his hand down to cup his balls.

“Hazza,” Louis warns, shuddering when he strokes his hand up and thumbs under the head.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, hand falling away. He turns back to face the wall, spreads his legs, and pushes his hips back, chants, “Okay, go, go, go.”

Louis chokes out a laugh as he moves in behind Harry, gripping the base of his cock and lining himself up. Harry lets out a long, low moan when Louis pushes in, but he doesn’t have the heart or the presence of mind to remind him that they need to be quiet. All he can think about is how warm Harry is, how soft, how good he tastes as Louis mouths at the back of his neck, how tight he is around Louis’ cock.

Gripping Harry’s hips, Louis tugs him a little further away from the wall, then pulls out and thrusts back in, slow and easy so they don’t slip on the wet floor. As much as Louis loves a good, hard fuck, he loves this too - soft and sweet, gentle sighs, the world narrowed down to just the two of them and the warm, humid air making everything feel syrupy slow.

Louis rests his forehead against Harry’s back while he rocks into him, orgasm pooling slowly in his belly. Harry’s letting out a string of soft noises, stomach flexing underneath Louis’ palm. He slides his hand up to thumb at Harry’s nipples, whispers, “Come on, love,” and scrapes his teeth against Harry’s skin.

Snapping into action, Harry wraps a hand around himself and starts to tug, chasing his orgasm. The noises he’s making are so hot and he’s so tight around him, feels so good, that Louis’ orgasm hits him hard, stealing his breath and shooting fireworks off behind his eyes. He curls himself around Harry, thrusts gone erratic as he rides out his orgasm, and knocks Harry’s hand away from his cock so he can take over, tightening his grip and thumbing under the head until Harry is gasping and shuddering and spilling over his knuckles.

Louis wraps himself around Harry and braces their shoulders against the wall while they both come down, trying to keep them upright and catch his breath at the same time. Once he’s calmed a bit, he brushes damp kisses across Harry’s shoulders and back and pets his hands down Harry’s sides until Harry’s heartbeat has slowed and the hectic flush in his cheeks has died down.

“Hey,” Louis whispers, turning Harry in his arms. Harry smiles sleepily at him, loose and sated, and stretches luxuriously before leaning in for a kiss. “You alright?”

“Perfect,” Harry hums in response and then he kisses him once more, just a chaste press of lips, before backing away and ducking underneath the spray. They scrub themselves down quickly and rinse the lingering smell of sex off their bodies, then dry off and clean up after themselves. Louis charms the sheets so they strip themselves off the bed and are replaced by a clean set while they dress, then, with one last, lingering kiss, they slip out of their room and down the stairs.

Despite the early hour, everyone is already in the kitchen working. Robin is at the table, peeling potatoes and carrots with his wand, while Anne stands at the stove, water streaming from her wand into a massive soup pot. Gemma is carefully measuring ingredients into a mixing bowl at the counter, and her husband has been tasked with stuffing the Christmas turkey.

“Good morning,” Louis calls to the room at large, then makes a beeline for Jack, who’s sitting in his high chair, mashing Cheerios with his chubby little hands. Jack beams up at him as Louis approaches and wiggles his sticky fingers at him, giggles delightedly when Louis hefts him into his arms. “And good morning to you!” Louis coos, peppering kisses all over Jack’s face. He squeals and waves his hands around in excitement, bits of smushed cheerios flying everywhere, but Louis doesn’t care.

“Well, well, well,” Gemma hums, looking between the two of them. She’s smirking, like she knows exactly what the two of them have been up to. “Finally decided to join us, have you?”

“Yes, we have,” Harry says primly, skirting around Gemma so he can kiss his mum good morning. “What can I do?”

“Good morning, baby,” Anne smiles, stopping the stream of water, then swirling her wand around so the soup stirs itself. She turns to find Louis and blow him a kiss, asks, “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” Louis confirms, emphasizing his statement by twirling Jack around so he giggles and clutches at his jumper with his tiny fists. “Do you have anything for me to do, Anne?”

Anne hums in consideration, then shrugs and says, “The gravy and Brussels sprouts can wait, and I’m going to have Harry make the desserts. Why don’t you just play with Jack for a bit, then you can help Robin with the veggies later?”

Robin makes a face at Louis and twiddles his wand, peeling a potato in a perfect spiral. “You know, _I_ could take the baby, and Louis could peel and chop for a while...”

Grinning smugly, Louis sits down at the table and settles Jack on his lap, then pours some more cereal into his hand for Jack to munch on. “Nah, you’re doing such a great job, Rob, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your flow.”

The face Robin makes has Louis bursting into laughter. Jack twists around on Louis’ lap so he can look up at Louis with wide eyes and tries to stick his cereal-coated fingers in Louis’ mouth. Louis deflects his hand expertly and pretends to chew on Jack’s fingers, making exaggerated growling noises until the baby is rocking back and forth from how hard he’s laughing. Louis’ heart swells in his chest at how happy Jack looks, how easy he is to entertain. He just loves babies so _much_.

Louis lifts Jack and sets him on the table, facing him, so he can talk to him and tickle his belly. He knows Harry is watching them, and he wants so badly to look over, to see the expression on Harry’s face, but he doesn’t want to spook him.

Eventually, tired of sitting, Louis takes Jack on a walk around the kitchen, pausing alongside each of his in-laws so they can give Jack a kiss. After making the rounds, they stop at Harry, who’s just put the Christmas pudding into the steamer.

“Well, hello there, Jack!” Harry exclaims, bending down and pursing his lips expectantly. Jack leans in eagerly for the kiss, bouncing in Louis’ arms, and Louis’ heart aches at the picture the three of them must make. Oh, he wants to start a family with Harry so badly.

Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment, Louis asks, “Do you want to take him for a bit? You could use a break, I’ll go help Robin with the potatoes.”

“What do you say, Jack? Want to come with Uncle Harry?”

Jack squeals and tries to launch himself at Harry, who catches him just in time and lifts him into the air. Louis takes a minute to watch Harry shuffle around the kitchen, holding Jack aloft and making airplane noises, before he joins Robin at the table. Robin gives him a knowing look as he sits down and tugs his wand out of his pocket, but Louis chooses to ignore it and get to work.

;;

Harry’s cousins show up a few hours later with gifts and hugs and an enormous Christmas trifle. Gemma tries to relieve Harry and take Jack upstairs for a nap, but as has become his tradition, Jack refuses to be held by anyone but Harry as they take their seats around the dinner table. Harry doesn’t mind, though, he just sets Jack on his lap and holds onto him with one hand and reaches out for Louis’ with the other.

Dinner is noisy and cheerful, the table groaning under the weight of all of the food, and the whole room is cast in the twinkling glow of the towering Christmas tree. Louis loads up Harry’s plate for him and shreds some turkey to feed Jack while Harry eats a bit of his food. He keeps catching various family members watching them as they take care of Jack together, even sees one of Harry’s cousins open his mouth to comment before Anne kicks him underneath the table, effectively stopping anyone from commenting or asking. Louis’ grateful, really, doesn’t want Harry to be upset on Christmas Day.

They all sit at the table picking at the turkey and the pudding until long after the sun has set and the crickets have begun to sing. Jack falls asleep cradled in Harry’s arms, his face buried against Harry’s stomach and his hand fisted in the fabric of Harry’s shirt. Once they finally give up on the food, Louis helps Harry move to a sofa in the living room while they all clean up so they don’t wake up Jack, then joins him a few minutes later with two mugs of hot cocoa, extra marshmallows for Harry.

“Do you want me to take him?” Louis asks, settling onto the sofa beside Harry. “Your arms must be aching by now.”

Harry peers down at Jack, traces a gentle finger down his little nose. “I don’t want to wake him.”

“Here, let’s just try. I helped my mum raise four babies, we’ve got this.”

Louis shifts closer to Harry and holds his hands out so Harry can slide Jack into his arms. Moving slowly so he doesn’t accidentally jostle him, Louis eases back and settles most of Jack’s weight on his lap, tucks his head into the crook of his elbow, and cradles him against his stomach, mimicking the position he’d been sleeping in while Harry was holding him. Jack sucks in a breath and his eyelids flutter, and Harry and Louis both gasp. They wait, breaths held, while Jack holds the breath, his body tensed, then breathe enormous sighs of relief when he just sighs and curls up against Louis, palms flat against his tummy.

“Look at that,” Louis murmurs, smiling up at Harry when he leans over to brush Jack’s fringe out of his face. “We’re naturals. The dream team.”

Harry pauses, still hovering over Louis’ lap, and turns to meet Louis’ eyes. Any one of Harry’s family members could walk in on them at any moment, but he’s pretty sure they’re about to have The Baby Talk right here, right now. It’s been a year since they’ve brought it up as more than just a passing comment, and Louis is oddly nervous, both because he doesn’t think Harry wants to wait anymore - and neither does he - and because he thinks they probably _should_ still wait, regardless of how they feel.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry whispers without preamble, surprising Louis. That wasn’t what he was expecting him to say.

“What do you mean?”

With a heavy sigh, Harry curls up against Louis’ side and rests his head on Louis’ shoulder, then settles one hand on Jack’s little belly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, but Louis doesn’t press. Finally, Harry turns his face against Louis’ neck and mumbles, “I want a baby more than anything.”

Louis’ stomach twists and something bursts in his chest - joy, he thinks - but then Harry leans back and looks up at Louis, says, “Higgins still doesn’t know we’re married, Lou. We can’t exactly have a baby if no one knows we’re even together.”

Louis frowns and covers Harry’s hand with his own, twines their fingers together over Jack’s stomach. He watches their clasped hands rise and fall with every shallow breath, mind racing as he tries to think. It’s mostly his fault that they’re in this bizarre situation, after all.

“Well, maybe -” He stops and looks up at Harry, tilts his head to the side in question. “Maybe we should just go ahead and tell him? This summer, I think. I want to tell him this summer. That way, if he’s angry and wants to let us go, at least we’ve finished out the year.”

Harry bites his lip and asks, “Do you really think he would?”

“I don’t know,” Louis frowns. He’s never known any of the Hogwarts professors to be married before, though he can’t imagine that every professor in the history of the school has never married. Maybe they’ll be the first to openly marry. Maybe they’ll set a precedent, make married life easier for future Hogwarts teachers. Harry would love that, he thinks. “I don’t care, though,” he says decisively, squeezing Harry’s hand. “I’ve been waiting to start a family with you since I was sixteen, but I figured we were a little too young back then.”

Harry snorts and tucks his face into the crook of Louis’ neck again, draws the tips of his fingers up and down Louis’ arm. “I would have, you know. Too young, or not.”

A smile spreads across Louis’ face, so wide it _hurts_. “My mum would have killed us,” he laughs, before turning his head so he can nudge his chin against Harry’s forehead. He waits for Harry to lift his head and meet his eye before asking, “Okay? Are we doing this, then?”

Harry’s mouth curves up into a slow smile, one that reaches his eyes and sets dimples deep in his cheeks. A giggle slips out and he nods his head eagerly, whispers, “Yes. This summer, yes. _Yes_.”

Happiness and excitement flood Louis’ body, so intense they leave him breathless and feeling like he’s floating on air. He lets go of Harry’s hand so he can grab the front of Harry’s shirt and yank him into a kiss so fierce their teeth clack together, but neither of them care. Harry wiggles as close as he can, with Jack sleeping between them, and makes a soft, desperate noise.

Louis is just sliding his hand up and into Harry’s hair when a voice above them says, “Oi! What are you two doing while you’re holding my baby?”

Harry pulls back so fast, Louis is left reeling. Panting, fighting to catch his breath, Louis wrenches his eyes open and looks up to find Gemma standing over them with her hands on her hips. She’s smirking, though, eyebrows raised in amusement, so Louis just rolls his eyes and says, “Stop cock-blocking me, Gems. Babies are bloke magnets, and I’ve just gotten the fittest bloke in the world to pay attention to me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry giggles. “Gemma, I love Jack, but you should probably take your son so I can snog my husband senseless.”

“I’ll take him,” Gemma concedes, bending to lift her son gently off Louis’ lap, “but you may want to hold off on the heated snogging. Everyone’s about to come in and open presents.”

Louis grins at the way Harry’s face falls and shakes his head at his put-out mutter of, “Oh, damn.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, tugging on Harry’s arm and patting his lap. “We need to make room for all of the cousins, anyway, don’t we?”

“We do!” Harry agrees, getting up so he can settle himself sideways in Louis’ lap, arms draped loosely around his neck.

Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and rests his head against Harry’s chest while the rest of the family starts to trickle in, talking and laughing and carrying glasses of wine and their own mugs of cocoa. Humming quietly to himself, Louis plucks at Harry’s shirt, the fabric twisted out of shape from Jack’s surprisingly strong grip. It’s a sheer shirt, one of Louis’ favorites, and he can see all of Harry’s tattoos through the thin material. He watches, transfixed, as the butterfly on Harry’s belly moves with each of his breaths.

Without thinking, Louis slips his hand up underneath Harry’s shirt and flattens his palm against Harry’s tummy. It’s only December, there are still six months until summer holidays begin, but he cannot wait to start a family with Harry, to see his belly rounded out and feel life stirring inside of him.

Six months, he thinks. They’re going to be the longest six months of his life, but it will be worth it.

;;

Early the next morning, Harry, Louis, Anne, and Robin apparate just outside his mum’s neighborhood, into a little park thick with trees, so they don’t run the risk of someone seeing them. It’s only a couple of blocks to Jay’s house from there, so they stroll along the snow-lined sidewalks, chatting easily between the four of them. Harry’s gloved hand is clasped loosely in Louis’ own, and their hands swing between them as they walk, everything quiet and peaceful around them, belying the excitement mounting in Louis’ chest. He hasn’t seen his family since mid-summer, and letters just don’t cut it. Next year, he decides, they’re all spending Christmas together, even if it means having to host everyone at their house in Hogsmeade. They’ll find a way.

Louis gets more and more jittery, the closer they get to the house, so that by the time they’re walking up the path to the front door, he feels about to burst out of his own skin. He takes a short moment to try and calm himself down, studies the holly wreath his mum hangs every year, admires the fresh coat of blue paint on the door and shutters. The brief pause does nothing to calm the excited racing of his heart, though, so, shrugging, he reaches out and knocks sharply on the door.

It only takes a moment before there’s the sound of footsteps pounding toward them, and then the door is swinging open to reveal Felicite, her hair loose and damp around her shoulders and makeup on only one eye. Her gaze flicks from Louis to Harry, then to Harry’s parents behind them, then she says, “You always have had shit timing, Lou.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of Louis and he responds, “Well, thanks for the warm welcome, Fiz. It’s been so long, it’s lovely to see you, too!”

“Well, come on in, then,” Fizzy sighs, rolling her eyes, but she can’t quite stop a pleased smile from spreading across her face when Louis pulls her into a hug. She greets each of them in turn, much more polite the second time round, and stays to chat with Anne and Robin for a few minutes before excusing herself to go finish getting ready. “Mum is in the kitchen, she’s been going mad getting ready for you to arrive for like three hours. Her magic is a bit out of control, maybe you can finally calm her down.”

Louis’ not sure what he had been expecting after Fizzy’s warning, but it’s certainly not the absolute chaos that is the kitchen. Never one for serving leftovers on Boxing Day, his mum appears to be cooking for the entire city of Doncaster. There are pots and pans flying through the air, vegetables peeling and slicing themselves on the draining board, and several more pans on the stove, simmering and sauteing and filling the air with the fragrant scents of a Boxing Day roast and all of its accompanying dishes. And in the midst of the chaos, Dan is sitting at the kitchen table with Ernest and Doris, listening to them stumble and falter as they try to read him a book.

The four of them stand there in awe for a few minutes before Jay turns and sees them. “Louis!” she shrieks, dashing across the kitchen to tug him into her arms. She squeezes him so tight he can barely breathe, then wiggles her hands at Harry and drags him in, as well, crushing Harry against Louis’ side so she can fit her arms around both of them at the same time. “Oh, babies, I’ve missed you so much! Come in, sit down, let me make you a cuppa.”

She lets go of Harry and Louis, then skirts around them to hug and kiss Anne and Robin before ushering them all toward the table. Doris and Ernie give up on their books the moment they notice Louis and Harry. They scramble off their chairs and rush toward Louis, wrapping their arms around his legs and babbling away so fast he can barely understand a word they’re saying. He drops to his knees so he can listen to them intently, anyway, nods his head in what he hopes are all of the right places. They don’t seem to notice that he’s just making noises, though, because they just keep going, chattering over each other and playing with the strings on his hoodie.

Once they’ve fallen silent, seemingly at the end of their story, Louis ruffles their hair and exclaims, “I can’t believe how big you’ve gotten! Are you doing schoolwork with your dad right now?”

Doris hesitates for a second, eyes darting to Dan where he’s still sat at the table, watching them all in amusement, then she nods. “We was reading, Louis! I know how to _read_.”

Duly impressed, Louis asks, “What were you reading, Dory?”

“The tiger what came for _tea_ ,” Ernest says proudly, butchering the title, but Louis oohs and aah’s appropriately anyway.

“Why don’t you show me and Harry how well you read?” he asks, winking at Dan. His ploy doesn’t work, though. Instead, it just serves to remind the twins that Harry is here, as well.

“Harry!” Doris screeches, throwing her hands in the air. “I gotta see Harry!”

Louis slides into one of the chairs at the table and watches, chest warm and full, as Doris and Ernie pounce on Harry next, the two of them dragging him over to a chair so they can clamber into his lap and chat his ears off. Harry gives them his utmost attention, hands on their sides to keep them steady on his lap and eyes focused intently on their excited, flushed faces. Louis has always loved watching Harry with his siblings, but now, with the promise of what the summer may bring, Louis feels especially squirmy, just thinking of how wonderful he’ll be with their own children. He hopes they have at least one set of twins.

They talk to Harry without even pausing to take breaths until Jay interrupts, holding a tray loaded with cups of tea and a platter of biscuits.

“Alright, darlings, why don’t you go back to daddy and finish your books, while Harry and Lou and Harry’s parents have a little brekky?”

Ernest scrunches his nose and starts to protest, but Jay just levels a look at him, and they clamber off Harry’s lap and go back to their own seats. Exhausted and overwhelmed already, Louis takes the seat next to Harry and snags one of the steaming mugs off the tray. Anne and Robin are already seated at the end of the table with Jay, talking and laughing and catching up. Louis loves when their families get together, they all get along so well. He wishes Gemma had been able to join them, but they’ve stayed behind at Anne and Robin’s, as it’s just around the corner from her in-laws.

Harry slumps against his side and they sip their tea and nibble on biscuits in comfortable silence, listening to Doris and Ernest trade off reading to Dan. They’re not the smoothest readers yet, but they’re only four and they’re so _cute_ , hunched over their books, brows furrowed in concentration. Louis can’t believe how quickly they’ve grown.

Fizzy wanders in a little while later, fully dressed and made-up, along with Daisy and Phoebe, who launch into a fresh round of hellos and hugs and kisses. Lottie is out with friends and won’t be back until later, but the rest of the girls take over for Jay, who’s left a few pots simmering and stopped everything else, her wand put away for the time being.

As they slip into early afternoon and the girls finish up with all of the cooking, Harry and Louis volunteer to set the table, grateful for a short break from the noise and clamor of the kitchen. Happy and jittery from being around his family after so long apart and feeling silly, Louis deliberately sets the silverware the wrong way so Harry fusses at him, then pulls him, protesting feebly, into his arms and kisses him so thoroughly he forgets about the backwards silverware completely.

Louis groans when they’re interrupted by Lottie a few minutes later, far too soon for his liking, but allows her to pull them apart anyway. It’s been nearly a year since he’s seen her, as she’d been on holiday in France when they had come to visit over the summer, and he’s missed her something fierce. He can snog his husband later, anyway. Preferably somewhere more private.

They have a massive supper around mid-afternoon, followed by a second round of Christmas presents and the family tradition of watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_. They all pile together in the living room, a room with far too little seating for twelve people, hands cupped around steaming mugs of hot cocoa loaded with marshmallows for the children and spiked with brandy for the adults. Louis sits on the floor with his back against the sofa and Harry between his legs, hands resting comfortably on Harry’s tummy. It’s chilly in the room, but Harry is incredibly warm against him, his own little personal radiator.

Half the room falls asleep before the film is over - also a Tomlinson family tradition - so Harry and Louis volunteer to carry the twins up to bed. Louis hefts Doris carefully into his arms, waits for Harry to lift Ernie, then starts up the stairs toward their bedroom. He buries his face in Dory’s hair before setting her in her bed, unable to resist. She always smells so sweet, like she’s retained that newborn baby smell as she’s grown. Once he’s tucked her in and placed her stuffed bear in her arms, Louis takes a step back to watch Harry where he’s bent over Ernest’s bed, fussing with the blankets and brushing Ernie’s hair off his face with gentle, reverent fingers.

His heart twists painfully in his chest when Harry bends even further to press a kiss to Ernest’s forehead and whispers, “Sleep tight, baby.” _God_ , he loves Harry so much. He wishes he could just fast-forward to the summer, to the following year, to their home full of children with his eyes and Harry’s curly hair, Harry’s studiousness and his propensity for mischief.

But then Harry turns to meet his gaze, eyes dark and smile warm, and he shakes off that thought. He wouldn’t want to fast-forward through a minute of his life with Harry. He can wait.

;;

It’s weird, Louis thinks, being in this room, where he spent his last few summers as a teenager. It seems so long ago that he used to come home from Hogwarts, full to the brim with magic and time spent with Harry, and have to sit on this bed for hours while his sisters asked him question after question. His father had been a wizard, but his mum had married muggles after he’d left, and so Louis’ siblings are all muggles, as well. His mum doesn’t shy away from using magic in the house, but as she and Louis are the only ones who can, it always makes for interesting visits. Harry is fascinated by electricity and doing everything the muggle way, and Louis finds it adorable. Plus, Louis can’t deny that having Harry in his childhood bed is surprisingly hot, even at the wizened age of twenty-seven.

The house has already gone quiet around them, and Louis had had the forethought to cast a _Muffliato_ charm on their door earlier, just in case Harry wasn’t tired yet. He watches, amused, as Harry stands in the bathroom doorway, face freshly washed and robe unbelted, and flicks the light switch on and off.

“Lou?” he asks, looking away from the light fixture for a moment so he can meet Louis’ eyes.

Not quite able to suppress a smile, Louis replies, “Yes, love?”

Harry frowns and glances back up at the bathroom light, then at the light on the bedroom ceiling. “I don’t get it. If you have to turn the lights off by the door, how do you see as you get into bed? Why don’t muggles put the switches next to the bed, instead?”

Full-on grinning now, Louis answers, “Well, if the switch was by the bed, how would you turn it on when you first came into the room?”

That seems to stump Harry, and he pauses in his flicking of the switch for a moment while he considers his response. Finally, he asks, “Well, why don’t they put in both?”

“I dunno,” Louis answers honestly. “They get around it by putting lamps next to the beds, though.” He makes his point by flicking on the lamp on the bedside table, then pats the bed beside him. “I know you love the lights, love, but you’re going to burn out that bulb, and I’m ready to kiss you now.”

Harry’s cheeks flush pink at that, and he flips off the bathroom lights one last time, then takes a running jump onto the bed. He crawls across the mattress so he can plop himself down in Louis’ lap, arms around his neck, and wiggles happily. “Okay, I’m here, you can kiss me now.”

All too happy to oblige, Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s waist underneath his robe and leans in, scrapes his teeth teasingly against Harry’s bottom lip before drawing him into a kiss. Harry parts his lips on a moan and scoots in as close as he can, until they’re pressed together from hip to shoulder. Harry is naked underneath his robe, skin warm and smooth beneath Louis’ hands as he swipes his palms up Harry’s back, then down to grasp his hips. His sisters are just on the other side of the wall and they’re only here for a couple of days, it shouldn’t be difficult to keep it in his pants for two nights. But he’s got a lap-full of very naked Harry, already half hard and grinding against his belly, and he’s struggling to remember _why_ they shouldn’t take this any further.

“Lou,” Harry breathes, leaning back so he can look at him. His lips are red, slick and swollen, and his eyes are impossibly dark in the dim lamplight. Harry fiddles with the hair at the nape of Louis’ neck, sending shivers down Louis’ spine, and rocks his hips back and forth, the curve of his bum firm against Louis’ rapidly hardening dick. “My wand’s in the bathroom. Get the lube, ‘m going to ride you.”

“Shit,” Louis curses, fumbling for his wand where he’d dropped it on the bedside table. He points it at their bag in the corner of the room and mutters, “ _Accio lube_ ,” watches impatiently as the little bottle flies across the room and into his hand.

Harry is restless in his lap, thighs flexing against his sides as he rocks back and forth, grinding against Louis relentlessly. He’s got his hands laced behind Louis’ head, holding himself steady as he arches his back and ruts against Louis’ belly. Distracted by the lines of Harry’s body, skin pale and smooth and gorgeous, Louis ducks his head, closes his mouth around one of Harry’s nipples, and flicks his tongue against it, teasing and biting the way he knows Harry likes it. Harry’s moans fill the room and Louis doesn’t have the heart to shush him, instead kisses his way across Harry’s chest and turns his attention to his other nipple, nibbling and sucking until Harry is squirming in his lap, his moans high and breathy, cock leaking against Louis’ belly.

Leaning back against the headboard, Louis shoves Harry’s robe off his shoulders and tosses it aside, then pulls Harry forward, stretches him out so he can slide a hand down and rub the dry pads of his fingers against Harry’s hole, just teasing, until Harry is shivering and shaking against him, rocking forward against his stomach and back against his hand, chasing friction against his cock and pressure his rim.

“Please,” Harry whimpers when Louis slides down on the bed so he can attack his nipples again, already puffy and rubbed red from Louis’ stubble. He presses his chest against Louis’ mouth and his arse back against Louis’ hand, begs, “Please, _please_ , Lou, please.”

“Shh,” Louis soothes, kissing back up Harry’s chest, along the side of his neck, and back up to his mouth, sucking little bruises into his skin as he goes. He takes a moment to snog Harry, hard and desperate, then grabs for the bottle of lube and squeezes some out onto his fingers.

Harry rocks back against his fingers the moment he rubs the tips of them against his hole, getting him nice and wet before easing one finger past his rim. He sinks in to the second knuckle in one go, and Harry sags against him, forehead resting against his shoulder while he waits for Louis to move. Louis wants to give him time to adjust, but Harry gets impatient and starts to wiggle his hips, huffing and whining and trying to get Louis to just _move_ already. Turning his head, Louis presses his lips to Harry’s temple and gives him what he wants, tugging his finger out and fucking back into him, crooking his finger and stretching him as quickly as he can.

Harry moans and arches his back when Louis adds a second finger, mouthing at the side of Louis’ neck and muffling the noises he’s making against his skin. He’s rocking steadily against Louis’ hand now, working his hips and clenching around him, trying to get Louis to fuck him harder, faster.

“A third,” Harry demands, way too soon. He scrapes his nails against Louis’ back and tightens his thighs around Louis’ waist, gasps, “A third, Lou, I’m ready.”

Shaking his head but knowing better than to argue, Louis pulls his fingers out and adds a third, cock twitching when Harry moans filthily and drops his head again. “You’re so tight,” Louis whispers, “slow down, love.”

But Harry just shakes his head and keeps rolling his hips, chants, “More, more, more.”

Wrist cramping, Louis fucks into Harry hard and fast, twisting his fingers and stretching him until he’s sure he’s ready. Harry whines and bites at Louis’ shoulder when he pulls his fingers out, hips working against empty air while Louis slicks himself up. Ready, _beyond_ ready, Louis taps Harry’s hips and whispers, “Alright, love, up you go.”

Trembling now in anticipation, Harry shuffles up onto his knees and braces one hand on Louis’ shoulder, uses the other to grip the base of Louis’ dick and line himself up. Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s hips, holds him steady as Harry sinks slowly onto his cock.

It’s overwhelming. Harry is so tight, his body so warm and smooth and inviting, and it steals Louis’ breath every time. They fit in every way, Louis thinks hazily, fingers clenching around Harry’s hips as he seats himself fully in Louis’ lap. Harry sits still for a moment, every line of his body tense while he adjusts to the thickness of Louis inside of him, and Louis just holds him, wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and pulls him against his chest, stroking his hands up and down his back while he fights for breaths.

He can feel it the moment Harry is ready, feels it in the way his body relaxes against him, breaths coming easier, lips parting against his shoulder so he can press soft, open-mouthed kisses to his sweaty skin. And then he moves, just a roll of his hips, and steals Louis’ breath away. He’s still so tight, so gloriously tight, and Louis can feel every drag of his cock inside of him right down to the tips of his toes as Harry levers himself up and sinks back down, thighs flexing as he sets a quick, punishing pace.

Louis can barely catch a breath, can only brace his feet against the mattress and grasp at Harry’s hips as he fucks himself on Louis’ cock. The headboard is thumping against the wall rhythmically, and Louis just knows he’s going to get shit for it in the morning, but it’s hard to care when he has Harry bouncing on his cock, back arched obscenely as he searches for the right angle. He’s gorgeous, all stretched out in Louis’ lap, and Louis slides his hands around to Harry’s stomach, spreads his fingers and tries not to think about anything past how beautiful Harry is, his skin glimmering with sweat, curls bouncing as he rides Louis hard. The moment Harry finds the right angle, Louis’ dick pressing right against his spot, he lets out a long, shuddering moan, tightening around Louis so suddenly he sees stars.

Planting his heels more firmly against the mattress, Louis lifts his hips to meet Harry’s, fucking into him hard and fast, until Harry’s letting loose a steady stream of throaty moans, nails digging into Louis’ shoulders so hard he’s going to have crescent-shaped bruises in the morning. He doesn’t mind. Orgasm building steadily in the pit of his stomach, Louis wraps a hand around Harry’s dick, working him hard and fast. He wants Harry to come first, wants to fuck him through it until he’s oversensitive and trembling, just the way Harry likes it.

He knows Harry is close when he sinks down on Louis’ cock and hunches over, switching from bouncing in his lap to rolling his hips and grinding against him. There are soft moans spilling from Harry’s mouth, breathy curses and mumbled variations of Louis’ name, and he’s becoming harder to understand the more desperate he gets as he chases his orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” Louis murmurs, pressing kisses to Harry’s temple. He’s got his forehead resting against Louis’ shoulder, hands wrapped against the headboard as he works his hips in tight circles, and he’s trembling uncontrollably now. “You’re almost there, love.”

Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s cock and digs his thumb into his slit, the muscles in his stomach tightening when Harry cries out and spills over his knuckles, tightening around him so much he nearly comes right then and there. Harry collapses against his chest, shaking and panting as he comes for what feels like ages. Planting his feet and grasping at his hips again, Louis fucks up into him, heat pooling in his belly as Harry clenches around him, still riding the waves of his orgasm and the aftershocks.

“Lou,” Harry moans, pressing himself as close to Louis as he can and working his hips to try and meet Louis’ thrusts. “ _Louis_.”

“I’ve got you,” Louis pants, fucking into him faster, pleasure coiling around him, tighter and tighter until it breaks and he comes with a long, ragged moan, spilling inside of Harry.

It feels like he comes for hours, cock pulsing as he fills Harry up. It feels so good, his entire body _aches_ , and he crushes Harry against him, lips pressed to the top of his shoulder and fingers buried in his hair as they both come down. It takes a while for Louis’ heart rate to slow and his chest to stop aching as he drags in shallow breaths, takes even longer for his muscles to relax, grip on Harry going loose as he slumps back against the pillows.

Harry’s body goes with him, loose and sleepy and sated, fingers slipping against Louis’ sweaty skin. He has just enough energy left in him to scoot down on the mattress and roll them onto their sides, groaning when his back twinges and his sore muscles stretch. He can’t even imagine how Harry must be feeling right now.

“Louis,” Harry mumbles, lips dragging against his skin where his face is still buried against his chest.

“Yeah, babe?” Louis asks, stroking his fingertips down Harry’s spine.

“I can’t move. ‘M so sticky.”

Louis laughs, just a weak puff of air that ruffles Harry’s hair, then groans. “Is that a hint?”

“I’m so sticky,” Harry repeats, a definite pout in his voice, then he tacks on for good measure, “and sore. Probably smelly, too.”

Sucking in a breath, Louis gears himself up to move. It takes an enormous amount of effort, but he manages to disentangle himself from Harry and roll away - and right into a wet patch. Wrinkling his nose, Louis hauls himself up and out of bed so he can shuffle across the room to draw them a bath. Harry will probably fall asleep before he’s even managed to wash his hair, but Louis loves washing it for him anyway.

Joints protesting as he bends over, Louis turns the water in the bath on piping hot and adds some bubbles, then straightens back up to go and fetch Harry. He stops in the doorway, though, affection bubbling up in his chest at the picture Harry makes. He’s still lying exactly where Louis left him in the center of the bed, but he’s curled into a ball now with his fists tucked under his chin, hair spread out across the pillow and lips parted as he snores softly, fast asleep. Sighing, Louis turns back so he can shut off the water, then drags his feet sleepily across the room and crawls into bed behind Harry.

He presses soft, open-mouthed kisses to the back of Harry’s shoulder and wraps himself around him, flattens his hands against Harry’s tummy just so he can feel the slow, steady rise and fall of it against his palms. They can clean up and deal with Lottie and Fizzy’s knowing looks in the morning. For now, he just wants to cuddle his boy, wants to fall asleep curled around him, hands against his soft belly, and dream of what’s to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this was literally 15k of them having sex, I don't know how that happened. The next chapter will be back to actual plot, I promise. Anyway, I hope you're enjoying so far, thank you for reading!!


	4. Spring Term

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School is back in session and Harry is feeling under the weather, and it looks like the time to tell the Headmaster about their relationship may come sooner than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHH MY GOD I'm so sorry this chapter took me 800 years to finish, life is wild!!! Thank you sooooo much to Alyssa for giving me advice and motivating me to write and editing the chapter and basically just holding my hand and being amazing ♥  
> I hope you guys enjoy the chapter and that it was worth the wait!!

The best thing about winter, in Harry’s opinion, is snow. Fluffy and beautiful, it blankets everything and softens all edges, scatters the winter sun so the whole world glitters like one of those glass globes Louis’ sisters collect. Snow is its own special kind of magic, something miraculous and otherworldly and all the more precious for its ephemeral nature. It makes Harry feel like a child again, carefree and wondrous, and the way Hogsmeade collects the snow against its cobblestones and harbors it in the shadows of buildings like mounds of tiny diamonds steals Harry’s breath every time.

Harry wakes on the last day of the year to a room glowing with narrow beams of light, scattered by icicles clinging precariously to the roof’s edge and illuminating a narrow strip at the end of the bed, the top of Louis’ bare shoulder, the dip of Harry’s back, the silky black patch on Salem’s rump. Everything is soft and quiet, the early morning street sounds muffled by the dense white carpet coating the streets and dusting the cottage roofs like too much confectioner’s sugar. Everything feels suspended in time like this, the whole world gone fuzzy as Harry comes awake slowly.

It’s New Year’s Eve, he realizes as he stretches, careful to contain his limbs so he doesn’t accidentally wake Louis. Niall is hosting his traditional party at The Laughing Leprechaun, and there is a bottle of Daisyroot Draught with Harry’s name on it. They have five days left of their holiday, and he intends to make the most of them.

Moving slowly, Harry scoots around Salem’s sprawled out form and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He’s thinking about tea and an omelette, but as soon as he stands, his stomach turns and the room gives one sickening, slow spin. Throwing a hand out to steady himself, Harry sucks in a sharp breath of chilly morning air to try and stifle the nausea welling up in his throat. Hand still wrapped around the headboard, Harry closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten.

“Hazza?”

He’s only made it to four when Louis’ sleepy, bemused voice cuts through the quiet of the bedroom and distracts Harry from his counting. The distraction and the sound of Louis’ sleepsoft voice do a better job of pushing away the nausea than the counting had, anyway. Pasting on a smile, though his skin feels a bit tacky with cold sweat and his stomach aches just a bit, Harry turns and murmurs, “Morning, love.”

Louis’ hair is in his face, rumpled and fluffy, and there are creases on his cheek from the pillow and goosebumps rippling across his skin from the chill in the room, but his voice is clear, if a bit raspy, when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry says breezily, waving a hand through the air. “I was just admiring the snow. You know I love snow.”

He holds Louis’ gaze as Louis squints at him, studying him for any sign of untruths. He’s nearly gotten away with it, can see the cogs in Louis’ head turning as he contemplates flopping back down and letting his eyes slide shut again, when pain swells in his stomach so swiftly and unexpectedly that he can’t stop the sharp gasp from tumbling out of his mouth.

Louis scrambles up onto his knees and shuffles across the bed so he can grasp Harry’s hips. “Babe -”

“I’m fine, it’s alright. I think I just need some tea,” Harry winces, letting himself lean into Louis’ grip for a moment. The cramp has already faded to a dull, persistent ache. “Peppermint, I think.”

“I’ll get it for you,” Louis says firmly, not allowing room for Harry to argue. He hadn’t planned to, anyway.

Harry settles back down on the bed, back against the headboard, and draws the blankets up over his lap while Louis tugs on a discarded shirt and slides his feet into Harry’s slippers. “Lou?” he asks, pressing the heel of his hand against his lower belly. “Could you add a bit of slippery elm to the tea? It’s in one of the vials on the pantry door.”

“Of course,” Louis affirms, stepping up to the side of the bed so he can brush a hand through Harry’s hair. “Stay right here, I’ll be back in a mo’.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispers, suddenly exhausted all over again. He hopes desperately that this is just a quick bug or a result of not enough sleep the past few days. He doesn’t want to miss New Year’s Eve at The Laughing Leprechaun, and certainly doesn’t want to spend the last days of his holiday ill in bed.

 

All morning, Louis plies him with tea and summons a hot water bottle that he wraps carefully in a flannel and tucks up underneath Harry’s shirt. He curls around him, one hand on Harry’s stomach above the hot water bottle and the other in his hair, and doesn’t let him out of bed until early afternoon, when Harry tries unsuccessfully to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Louis,” he laughs, squirming against Louis’ legs where they’re locked around his own. “I have to _wee_ , let me up!”

He lets go with a reluctant grumble, and Harry clambers to his feet, letting the hot water bottle fall to the mattress. He feels warm and lethargic, and spares a few seconds on considering making a mad dash for the front door so he can roll around in the freshly fallen snow. Louis would have his head, though, and he knows it won’t help him feel better, so Harry just shuffles off to the toilet like he’d promised.

Standing at the mirror, Harry studies himself - face flushed, hair a disaster, eyes overbright - and shakes off all lingering drowsiness before splashing cold water on his face and slipping back out into the room. Louis watches him approach, a fresh cuppa in one hand and a plate of toast in the other.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks as Harry knees onto the bed and nips one of the slices of toast off the plate. He needs to put something solid in his stomach if he’s going to drink all night.

“Yes,” Harry lies, resisting the urge to pick the hot water bottle back up. “Much, I think the tea and the heat helped loads, thank you.” He leans in to press a crumby kiss to Louis’ cheek and murmurs, “Most wonderful nurse.”

Louis eyes Harry suspiciously as he leans back and takes another bite of the toast, but Harry just smiles at him, determined to go to Niall’s tonight.

 

The party is an absolute rager. Harry puts all thoughts of sore tummies out of his mind as he follows Louis into the pub, dressed in a pair of skinnies and his favorite shimmery, sheer blouse. It’s already dark out, the streets echoing laughter and friendly conversation as Hogsmeade’s residents and their visiting friends and families head to neighbors and pubs, or simply move to sit on their front porches and drink firewhiskey and mulled mead and socialize. There are even more people crammed into The Laughing Leprechaun, locals and visitors alike, and it takes the two of them a few minutes to spot Niall and Liam over by the bar, heads bent as they charm the radio to scream out a mixture of popular wizarding radio and Irish pub music.

Without waiting for Niall and Liam to notice them, Harry drapes himself over Liam’s back, arms around his neck, and trills, “I’m ready for my daisies, Niall!”

“Oi!” Niall laughs, ruffling Harry’s hair and looping Louis in for a one-armed hug. “I don’t even get a proper hello?”

“Of course!” Harry hums, letting go of Liam so he can wrap himself around Niall and press a wet, smacking kiss to his cheek. “Hello, Nialler, _please_ tell me where my draught is. It’s already ten and I haven’t had a drop of alcohol, this is unacceptable.”

He can practically _hear_ Louis’ eyeroll, but Niall, bless him, ignores it and scoots out of Harry’s embrace so he can grab a bottle of Daisyroot for Harry and a Dragon Scale for Louis.

Alcohol firmly grasped in one hand and Louis’ hand in the other, the two of them make their rounds, chatting to neighbors and friends, drinking, dancing, slowly making their way toward tipsy. The music gets louder and the pub gets more crowded as the night wears on, so five to midnight finds Harry and Louis crammed into a corner by the windows, Harry against the wall and Louis pressed all along his front. They had fought tooth and nail and sharp, bony elbow for that spot, as it has a perfect view of the Hogsmeade Town Square and the broad stretch of sky above it, soon to be filled with a dazzling fireworks display.

“Two minutes,” Niall announces to the crowd, voice magically amplified, “so I suggest you find whoever you’re planning to kiss at midnight before it’s too late and you’re left kissing me, instead!”

“I’ll kiss you, Horan!” someone screams from the crowd, and Harry buries a giggle in Louis’ shoulder as the room erupts into cheers so loud they drown out the music.

When he lifts his head, Louis is watching him, smile soft, eyes glittering in the moonlight streaming in through the window panes. Harry’s heart flips over in his chest, stealing his breath.

“Well,” he gasps, twisting away from Louis, “I guess I’d better go find Liam before the clock strikes, then.”

Louis’ eyes flash once, and then he’s gripping Harry’s hips hard enough to bruise and pulling him into a ferocious kiss fifty-three seconds too soon. Harry’s cheeky comment dies in his throat the moment the tip of Louis’ tongue touches his bottom lip. Hunger claws its way out of his chest and clouds his brain, and Harry loses track of time, of space, of everything that isn’t Louis _LouisLouis_ as he wraps himself around Louis and throws himself into the kiss.

He’s vaguely aware, in the dim recesses of his brain, that midnight has come and gone and that they’re missing the fireworks show, but nothing else matters at the moment. Louis is pressing him into the warm wood paneling, his body hard and lean under Harry’s roving hands, crowding in closer and closer, despite the fact that people are already filing out to watch the fireworks from outside, giving them more space. They’re putting on quite the show for whoever is left, Harry knows, but it’s difficult to care when he can feel Louis hard against him, can feel the desire crawling underneath his skin.

“Hold on tight,” Louis whispers into Harry’s mouth. The words barely penetrate the haze, the meaning of them completely lost, but Harry clings nonetheless, and lets out a wild, barking laugh when Louis twists on the spot and apparates them right into the center of their bedroom.

Stumbling and giggling, Harry wheezes, “Merlin’s beard, I love magic.”

Louis’ smile is feral, but his eyes are soft soft soft as he tackles Harry to the bed, pinning his wrists to the mattress over his head. “I love _you_ ,” he murmurs, ducking in to nip along the curve of Harry’s jaw.

Sighing contentedly, Harry tips his head back to give Louis better access. The desperation has gone, has been replaced by a slow, aching need that simmers just beneath his skin. He flexes his fingers against the duvet, wrist twisting just a bit in Louis’ grip. He waits for Louis to lift his head again, to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark in the hushed dimness of the room, pupils blown wide so there’s just a narrow band of stormy blue surrounding them, and his lips are red and swollen, parted so he can suck in gulping breaths of air.

“Happy new year, Lou,” Harry whispers, tipping his chin up in a silent plea.

Louis lets go of one of Harry’s wrists so he can smooth his hand down Harry’s side, squeeze his hip, then lay it gently against his flat stomach. The ache from earlier is completely forgotten, replaced instead by a fluttering warmth. Possibility, he thinks.

“Happy new year, love.” Louis ducks his head so he can brush his lips against Harry’s, so sweet it sets butterflies loose in his tummy. Certainty. “It’s going to be our best year, yet.”

;;

By the time Sunday rolls around, Harry barely remembers how it felt to be ill earlier that week. He and Louis meet Liam, Iona, and the gameskeeper at Hogsmeade Station in the early afternoon to greet the Hogwarts Express and accompany the students back up to the castle. It’s been a wonderful two weeks, and Harry absolutely hates to have to go back to hiding his relationship with Louis, but he’s ready to get back to work.

The train arrives with a cacophony of noise. Four hundred students pour from the scarlet steam engine’s narrow doors and out onto the platform, each and every one of them fighting to be heard over each other as they reconnect with friends and housemates and significant others.

Already practiced, the students pour into the thestral-drawn carriages for the ride up to the castle. Temporarily separated, the din quiets to the murmur of muffled voices, the clip-clop of invisible hooves, and the occasional shrieking laugh. Harry slides a surreptitious hand across the carriage bench while Liam’s head is turned toward the window, watching the castle loom out of the distance. The corner of his mouth quirking up into a shadow of a smile, Louis hooks his pinkie through Harry’s, then twitches his robe so it’s covering their hands, though it doesn’t do much to mask what they’re doing.

“It never gets old,” Liam sighs, and Harry reluctantly disentangles their fingers, though he doesn’t move his hand far. He likes being able to feel the warmth radiating off Louis’ body.

Just as he’d expected, Liam turns to face them not a moment later. His eyes flicker to the bench and the scant centimeters between their splayed fingers, but Harry keeps his face determinedly impassive. They’re not doing anything suspicious.

Before Harry can say something - anything - to get Liam’s attention off the proximity of their hands, the carriage draws to a stop by the castle steps. The grounds are covered in a thick blanket of snow, marred only by the lacework of carriage tracks and the heavy boot prints of the groundskeeper. The students make a mess of what’s left of the snow leading up to the castle as Harry and his colleagues work to funnel them in through the great oak doors. The Transfiguration and Charms professors are stationed just inside, offering drying and warming charms to the sodden, shivering students as they filter off toward their respective common rooms. They have a few hours before dinner, plenty of time to unpack and catch up with friends.

And Harry - well. Harry needs a nap. He signals to Louis, then, once the entry hall has cleared, drifts up the stairs toward their offices and rooms. He’s just stripping off when Louis slips through the door, and he shivers violently when Louis presses his freezing hands over Harry’s bare tummy as he curls around his back.

“Louis!” he squawks, shoving at his hands half-heartedly. They’re already warming up, but he can’t suppress another shiver.

“It’s bloody freezing,” Louis mumbles, mouth pressed to the back of Harry’s shoulder. It’s cold in the room, but Harry’s wand is on the desk all the way across the chamber, and Harry's never practiced wandless magic. As if he’s read his mind, Louis lifts one hand off his stomach and fishes his wand out of his pocket so he can mutter, “ _Incendio_.”

Flames burst to life in the fireplace, and Harry sighs, relaxing back against Louis. The room feels warmer already.

“Hey,” Louis says suddenly, tone curious. “What are you doing?”

Eyebrow raised, Harry aims a look at Louis over his shoulder. “We have three hours and I’m knackered.” He points at the bed and asks, “Nap with me?”

Louis’ answering smile is soft, warm and sweet, and he presses his fingertips into the softness of Harry’s tummy in response. “Get in, I’m right behind you.”

Unable to resist, Harry waggles his eyebrows at that, leer giving way to a delighted laugh when Louis scoffs and shoves him toward the bed.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, you minx.”

Still giggling, Harry crawls into bed, then turns to watch Louis as he undresses. It’s amazing, Harry marvels, that even in the dead of winter, he still manages to stay tanned and glowing. His very own personal sun.

Louis catches him looking as he tosses his robe over the back of the desk chair, but Harry just keeps on staring, unabashed. Cocking a hip, Louis asks, “See something you like, Styles?”

Humming in his throat, Harry rolls onto his back and lets his legs fall open in invitation. “You know,” he starts casually, trailing the tips of his fingers down his side, delighting in the way Louis’ eyes track the movement. “Maybe I’m not so tired after all.”

“Naps are for babies and nans,” Louis agrees, voice gone airy and thin. Harry’s got his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his pants, now, and Louis’ swallow is audible, even from all the way across the room.

Harry drags the elastic down over his hipbones, exposing just a centimeter of pale skin, and Louis lets out a stream of muggle curses that have him giggling and heat curling in his chest. When Louis just stays there, transfixed, frozen by the corner of the desk, Harry stays his hands and asks, impatience bleeding into his voice, “Well, are you just going to stand there and watch, or are you going to do something about this?”

He waves a hand to indicate his cock, half-hard and already tenting the front of his pants, and Louis snaps into action, shedding the rest of his clothing so quickly he trips and has to catch himself on the end of the bed.

“Shit,” Louis wheezes, crawling across the bed on his hands and knees. He stops by Harry’s side and just. Gazes at him for a moment, eyes wide and dark in the dim torch-light. “You’re so bloody beautiful.”

Pleased, Harry rubs a foot against Louis’ ankle, then whips his pants off in one quick movement and drops them over the edge of the bed. He’ll deal with them later. Tossing his hair back, Harry shifts up onto his elbows, palms splayed against his own stomach, and says, challenge clear in his voice, “We have just under three hours until dinner, Lou. Make good use of them.”

;;

“Grace, I think you’ll find that with Flutterby Bushes, you’ll want a much larger trough. Probably about double that size.”

Harry brushes a fingertip along the ink marks on Grace’s parchment, indicating the edges of the marked planter. Chirping her agreement, Grace siphons the ink off the parchment and redraws the lines, measuring them carefully with a ruler while Harry watches. Satisfied with the new dimensions, Harry moves along to check on the next student.

It’s a quiet, snowy Tuesday and Harry is finishing up his last class for the day - his seventh year N.E.W.T. students, who are busy finalizing the plans for their end of the year projects while he wanders amongst them, pointing out possible issues and murmuring quiet praise and encouragement. They’re to start their projects on Thursday, so this is their last chance to ask for his assistance.

“Yes, that looks perfect, Jasper,” Harry enthuses, smiling down at Jasper, who’s just finished drawing and writing up his idea for a new, potentially more efficient way to harvest fire pods from a Dragon Bush.

Harry is reading over Jasper’s proposal when his vision suddenly blurs, the words carefully marked in Jasper’s spiky scrawl sliding in and out of focus, and a wave of nausea rolls over him. Gasping, Harry sways on the spot, then mutters a hurried, “Be right back everyone, carry on,” and rushes from the greenhouse, robes bunched in his hands so he doesn’t trip over them. He’s barely made it a few meters from the greenhouse door when he has to stop and hunch over so he can empty his stomach into the bushes fringing Greenhouse Two.

It takes a few minutes before Harry’s stomach stops spasming and he can wipe away the tears tracking down his cheeks. Trembling, he bites off a groan and hangs his head, eyes shut, as he sucks in greedy breaths of frigid air. He feels weak and a bit shaky, but already his stomach is calming, so he straightens himself up and fishes his wand from the pocket of his robes.

“ _Aguamenti_ ,” he mutters, throat gone raw and scratchy. He uses the stream of water pouring from the tip of his wand to clean up, then rinses out his mouth and dampens his palms so he can pat water onto his burning cheeks.

The biting wind is sharp and cold on his damp skin, chapping his lips and blowing his hair into his eyes. Stumbling only a little, Harry straightens up again and smooths himself out. He needs to pull himself together and get back to his students. As self-sufficient as they are, he can’t just leave them alone for long. Harry’s legs are wobbly as he walks slowly back to Greenhouse Four, but the deep breaths he’s taking have helped to steady him, to settle his churning stomach and soothe the rough burn of his throat.

“Everything alright, Professor?” one of his seventh year Hufflepuffs asks, eyes wide as she watches him slip back into the humid building.

“Absolutely,” Harry says with forced enthusiasm. His stomach has mostly settled, for now, but he feels clammy and uncomfortable in his skin, wishes class were over already so he could go back up to his room and shower off this nasty feeling. “I just had to go ask Mr. George a question,” he lies smoothly, referencing the Hogwarts groundskeeper.

Jodie just hums in response, then goes back to her work.

The rest of class passes quietly and without incident. Another bout of nausea hits Harry just as class ends, but he manages to chase it down with some water as he walks the seventh years back up to the castle. Normally, he would putter around the greenhouses a bit, straighten up some odds and ends and prune dead leaves and such, but he’s had it for the day, isn’t even sure he wants to go down to dinner later that evening.

The entry hall is full of students wandering to and from classes, and since they have a short break before their next double period, many of them are loitering, chatting and laughing and trading notes. Not in the mood to weave his way through the masses of children, Harry slips into an unused classroom beside the Transfiguration room. Shutting the door behind him, he turns to face it, then reaches up to tug on one of the candelabras affixed to the wall alongside it. The candelabra gives easily, tipping forward out of the wall with a groan. Leaving it at an angle, Harry turns the classroom doorknob and pulls it open again, nods when he sees the dark silhouette of a narrow, smooth stone staircase, rather than the open span of the entry hall.

The moment Harry’s foot touches the bottom step, the entire staircase begins to move. Gripping the banister, Harry waits patiently as the staircase bears him up and up, the steps churning underfoot as they carry him toward a narrow wooden door. The movement ceases as soon as the toes of his boots touch the last step, and Harry pushes the door open gratefully. The ride up the winding staircase hadn’t done much to curb his agitated stomach. Thankfully, when he steps through the doorway, Harry finds himself face-to-face with the back of the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. He sidesteps the statue and squeezes past her, then simply crosses the hall and pushes open the door to Louis’ office.

The moment the door separating Louis’ office from their chambers shuts, Harry’s entire body sags in relief. He sheds his clothing as quickly as possible, fingers trembling with the effort, then forgoes the shower in favor of crawling straight into bed. He feels wretched, wishes fervently that Louis were here to cuddle him. Frowning, Harry drags Louis’ pillow against his chest and buries his face in it. It smells of Louis’ shampoo, warm and familiar, enough of a comfort for Harry to fall into a fitful, restless sleep.

 

Harry wakes sometime later to the feel of cool hands brushing the back of his neck and a quiet voice whispering, “Hazza? Harry, love, is everything alright?”

Blinking sleep from his eyes, Harry uncurls himself from around Louis’ pillow and rolls onto his back so he can blink muzzily up at Louis. Louis is hovering over him, concern knitting his brow, and Harry opens his mouth to respond, to let Louis know that he’s fine, just feeling a bit peaky, but all that comes out of his dry, raw throat is a pathetic croaking noise.

“Here, darling,” Louis clucks, grabbing a glass and filling it with pumpkin juice from the pitcher the house elves have left on the bedside table.

Harry sits up and takes it gratefully, swallows down the whole glass before sucking in a breath and trying again. “Hey, Lou. I’m fine, just knackered.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, doubt coloring his voice. He reaches a hand out to tuck Harry’s hair behind his ear. “You look a bit peaky.”

Crinkling his nose, Harry lifts his shoulder to trap Louis’ hand against his cheek. “Was a bit sick earlier.” He sniffs and pats a hand over his tummy, finally settled and feeling normal again. “Poor greenhouse bushes.”

Louis’ eyes go wide at that, and he asks, voice high and uncertain, “Are you sure you’re alright? Do you want me to take you up to the infirmary? I’m sure Cara would be happy to give you a bit of tonic, or something.”

“No,” Harry says, before heaving an enormous sigh and flopping back onto the bed. “I think I’d rather just stay here. I’m feeling better, but I think I’ll skip dinner tonight. Don’t want to risk it.”

“Babe, you can’t skip a meal altogether. I’ll go down to the kitchens and get you some broth and a nice loaf of bread. You have to eat _something_. We’ll have dinner together, I’ll just go tell Liam we won't be at dinner.”

“Louis -” Harry starts, but he’s already sliding his feet back into his shoes.

“Be right back,” Louis promises, then he slips from the room.

Sighing again, Harry curls back around Louis’ pillow and lets his eyes fall shut. He should probably insist that Louis go down to dinner. It’s unusual for a professor to be absent, but two missing teachers would be very strange, indeed. He’ll say something when Louis returns, Harry promises himself, sinking into the mattress. He’s only just woken up, but already he’s exhausted. He’ll just wait for Louis to return so he can send him off to dinner, then he’ll sleep a bit more. He can make it a few more minutes.

;;

To Harry’s displeasure, this blurry, indistinct haze of exhaustion persists through the rest of January, coming and going from day to day so that he never knows how he’ll feel when he wakes in the morning. Louis’ worry increases with each passing day, but Harry waves him off, certain he just needs to re-adjust to their changed schedule and the dreary weather. He puts in a concerted effort to be cheerful, anyway, which seems to assuage some of Louis’ worry, and even lets Cara give him a Pepper-Up Potion one Tuesday when he’s feeling particularly worn-down.

The last day in January, a frosty Friday and a good day so far, Harry is just cleaning up from his last class - a group of rambunctious second year Ravenclaws and Slytherins, who’d had just a bit _too_ much fun with the Puffapods - when a sharp rap sounds on the door to Greenhouse Two.

“Come in,” he calls, arms full of trowels and soil-caked gloves. He dumps them unceremoniously into a massive crate for cleaning, then looks up to watch Louis appear in the doorway, hair windswept and cheeks red with windburn. “Oh, hello! Have you come to walk me back up to the castle?”

“Not quite,” Louis hums, a cryptic smile on his face.

Frowning, Harry watches Louis as he wanders along the aisles, pausing by each different plant so he can name it from memory of his time at Hogwarts, or one of Harry’s rambling, detail-heavy stories. He wants to be patient and let Louis work his way up to admitting why he’s here, but his back aches and he has to pee quite badly and he still has a bit of cleaning to do, so he hedges, “Alright, then did you just want to say hello? I’m done for the day...”

“I know,” Louis says with that maddeningly coy smile. He’s made it to the aisle Harry’s stood on, now, and is approaching him slowly, hands tucked casually behind his back.

“Listen, Lou, I’ve just worked a long day and I have to wee, so if you could just -”

Rolling his eyes good naturedly, Louis says, “Well, go have a wee, then, because we’re going for a walk.”

Eyes wide, Harry just stares at Louis for a moment before saying, “Lou, it’s freezing outside.”

“Go to the toilet, Harold. I’ll wait right here. In fact, I’ll clean these off for you so we can go sooner.”

Baffled, Harry stares at Louis for another minute before he makes shooing noises and starts to cast cleaning spells. Harry turns back and catches sight of neat arcs of dirt sailing into a bucket as he makes his way toward the greenhouse door, shakes his head as he pushes out into the cold winter air. He’s not really keen on a walk, but Louis seems excited for it, so he’ll humor him.

Once he’s gone to the toilet hidden away in the Herbology storage shed, Harry pulls the greenhouse door open again and leans against the door jamb. “Alright, you weirdo, let’s go on our walk.”

Louis cuts across the greenhouse aisles to join Harry in the doorway, where he offers his arm and waits patiently for Harry to take it. Shaking his head, Harry tucks his hand through Louis’ elbow and lets him lead the way out past the greenhouses and toward the lake. They wander along the banks, watching as the giant squid pokes the end of a tentacle through a crack in the ice covering the surface, chatting idly about their days as they go. He expects Louis to curve around the edge of the lake and head toward the Quidditch pitch, but instead, he continues in a straight line toward the front gates and the great, winged boars that guard the Hogwarts grounds.

“Oh, are we going home? I’ve left my bag back at the castle.”

“No worries,” Louis says breezily, striding confidently toward the gates. “I’ve sent our things ahead.” He mutters a quick spell as they come up on the towering gates, and they’re able to walk right through without pause. Before Harry can even start to angle himself toward the road into Hogsmeade, Louis grips his hand where it’s tucked into the curve of his elbow and turns suddenly in place, pulling Harry along with him.

As they come to a jarring stop, feet slamming uncomfortably into cobblestone, Harry lets out a sharp, gasping, “ _Louis_! Warn me first!”

When Harry opens his eyes, though, he realizes with a start that the cobblestones they’re standing on do not belong to the streets of Hogsmeade. Confused, he lets go of Louis and turns in a slow circle. They’re behind what looks to be a restaurant of some sort along a narrow, cobbled street lined with small, stone buildings and overflowing with winter flowers. Just at the end of the street, he can see what looks like a bit of water, and if he’s not mistaken, the voices coming from the restaurant kitchen sound a lot like -

“ _France_?”

Grinning so wide his eyes have been reduced to tiny slits, Louis shrugs and spreads his hands wide. “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Harry laughs, aches and confusion completely forgotten, shoved aside to make way for awe and excitement. “Did you - how long have you had this planned?”

Louis reaches a hand out for Harry’s, says, “For a few weeks. Mum helped so you wouldn’t find out, we’ve got a room above this restaurant here.”

He points to the one they’re currently standing behind, and once Harry looks - _really_ looks - he realized that the plants growing out back look more like Chomping Cabbages than normal cabbages, and yes, that is _definitely_ Moly growing alongside the rosemary.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Harry laughs, taking Louis’ hand and tugging him into a ferocious hug.

Louis squeezes him tight enough to steal his breath and murmurs, right against Harry’s ear, so it sends shivers down his spine, “You’ve seemed a bit under the weather, so I thought getting away might help. Plus, it’s your birthday and Valentine’s Day in two weeks, I thought we could have a little early celebration in the City of Love.”

“It’s perfect,” Harry murmurs, face buried in Louis’ neck. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Louis whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Now let’s go inside, it’s bloody freezing out here and I’m _famished_. They’re supposed to have the best pot de créme in all of France. I hear it has actual fairy dust in it, it’s supposed to make you float a few centimeters above the ground for a bit after eating it.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Harry muses, tummy fluttering at the excitement in Louis’ voice.

Louis stops to face Harry, lifts both hands to cup his cheeks. “Come on, Styles, let’s go celebrate. I’ll order you a pot de créme big enough for twenty-six candles.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry laughs, shoving Louis’ hands off his face. “One candle is perfectly adequate, thanks.”

“Alright, one candle it is,” Louis concedes, taking Harry’s hand and twining their fingers together. Here in Paris, they don’t have to worry about who might see. Glancing around anyway, Louis leans in close, so his lips brush the shell of Harry’s ear, and whispers, “And once we’re done, I have a gift for you waiting in the room. You won’t want to miss it.”

Harry shivers at the throaty timbre of Louis’ voice, the heavy promise in his eyes. He almost asks if they can just skip dinner altogether and get straight to the present, but he’s 26 years old. He has more self-control than that. Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, Harry nods and says, “Wine and dine me, Tomlinson, then you can carry on with whatever you have planned for me.”

Tilting his head, Louis says in a soft voice, full of promise, “Oh, I intend to.”

;;

True to Louis’ word, the pot de créme is the most incredible dessert Harry has ever tasted. The velvety smooth chocolate custard is topped with a light-as-air whipped cream and shaved chocolate, and the fairy dust folded into the dessert fizzes in Harry’s throat. It’s supposed to take a few minutes to take effect, but Harry feels like he’s floating already, only tethered to Earth by Louis’ hand in his and Louis’ foot hooked around his ankle underneath the table. He’s got Coq au Vin and three glasses of wine sitting happily in his belly and he feels full-up on delicious food and love.

Harry tries to stifle a giggle as he pushes Louis’ spoon aside with his own so he can scoop up the last of the whipped cream. Louis’ indignant gasp makes stopping the laugh impossible, though, and he has to clap both hands over his mouth once he’s shoved the spoonful into his mouth, not wanting to be rude and accidentally spit custard all over the table.

“You absolute _brat_ ,” Louis says, shaking his head in wonder, but Harry just drops his hands and offers him a cheeky, chocolatey grin.

“It’s my _birthday_ , Lou, I deserved that whipped cream.”

“I’ve already got you a present, don’t get greedy,” Louis admonishes.

Before Harry can respond, Louis reaches across the table and tugs him in, meeting him halfway and sealing their mouths together. Harry’s lips part on a surprised gasp, and Louis licks inside immediately, chasing the taste of whipped cream that lingers on Harry’s tongue. Harry sinks into the kiss on a moan, ignoring the way the edge of the table is digging uncomfortably into his stomach and the fact that they are probably drawing attention from the other diners.

When Louis pulls back, Harry can’t help the disappointed whine that falls from his mouth, and he slumps back into his chair with a pout.

“Delicious,” Louis hums, mouth curved into a smug grin, and then he picks his spoon back up without another word and digs back into the dessert.

Suitably distracted, Harry leaves his spoon where it’s fallen onto the table and just watches Louis lick custard off his spoon, heat and desire rumbling impatiently in his belly. He knows Louis knows, can see it in the subtle curve at the corners of his mouth, in the way he curls his tongue obscenely around the spoon, eyes on Harry the whole while. Finally, unable to take it anymore, Harry shoves back from the table and announces, “I’m going up to the room. If you’re not finished yet, I’ll just get started without you.”

Satisfaction blooms in his stomach when Louis chokes on a spoonful of pot de créme and has to stop and take a long drink of water, eyes watering and breaths coming in sharp wheezes. He signals something to the maître d’, then hurries after Harry, clambering up the stairs so he can pull ahead of him.

“Hazza,” Louis gasps, still catching his breath from inhaling the custard, “you don’t even know which room is ours.”

“Well, then I guess you had better show me.” Harry raises an impatient eyebrow at Louis and waits for him to take the lead. Nodding, Louis grabs his hand and pulls him up two more flights of stairs, then down the hall to a room with a brass number 9 on it.

All sense of urgency is forgotten the moment Harry sees the inside of the room.

“Oh,” he breathes, stepping through the doorway and into the suite. It’s beautiful.

The room is dim and spacious, decorated in whites and pale grays. A four poster bed with gauzy gray curtains is the centerpiece of the room, with an elegant, curving white chaise lounge at its foot. A small glass table sits in the corner, laden with chocolate dipped strawberries and a bottle of champagne on ice, two delicate crystal flutes already full of the sparkling wine. The far wall is built of windows overlooking the Seine, and even though there are far taller buildings than the one they are in, the entirety of Paris is laid out before them, impossible in its expanse and its beauty. There’s music playing somewhere, soft and floating and romantic, and the whole room smells of roses.

Harry takes a minute to stare out at the city, at the lights twinkling in windows and off the roofs of buildings, everything reflected in the still waters of the river. This moment feels suspended in time, and Harry feels like he could burst with happiness and contentment. When he finally turns from the window, Louis is sitting on the edge of the bed watching him, expression soft and sweet.

His body already humming with anticipation, Harry crosses the room to the small table and takes both flutes and one of the enormous strawberries in hand, then moves over to the bed. He passes one of the glasses of champagne to Louis wordlessly, then clambers gracelessly onto the bed, one knee planted on either side of Louis’ thighs, and settles in his lap. He offers Louis a bite of the strawberry, then takes one himself, eyes locked on Louis’ as he chases it with a sip of champagne.

Wine bubbling pleasantly in his belly, Harry drops the rest of the strawberry into the glass, sets the flute carefully on the chaise lounge, then loops his arms around Louis’ neck. “This is so beautiful, Lou. I don’t know how I can thank you.”

“Well,” Louis quips, pinching at Harry’s hip, “don’t thank me too much just yet, this is your birthday _and_ Valentine’s Day gift.”

Not rising to the bait, Harry just shakes his head. He’s too touched to play into the joke, wants Louis to understand how much this means to him. “You always know just what to give me,” he says, voice gone scratchy and thick. “This could be my only gift for the next ten birthdays and Valentine’s Days and I wouldn’t care.”

“Hold on, Sunshine,” Louis tuts, “that’s not all.”

Letting go of Harry’s hips, he reaches behind himself so he can tug over a box that’s been wrapped carefully in shiny silver paper and topped with an enormous white bow.

“ _More_?” Harry gasps, but he pulls the box closer eagerly, twisting so he can keep his perch in Louis’ lap while he opens his gift.

He picks the bow and paper off carefully, not wanting to rip them, then pulls off the top and discovers, to his delight, two more boxes.

“This one first,” Louis says, pointing to a wide, flat box.

Nodding, Harry pulls it closer and tugs off the top. Inside is a mound of tissue paper wrapped carefully around something light and flexible. Tongue tucked between his teeth, Harry settles the package in Louis’ lap and unwraps the it slowly, parting the paper to reveal a mass of sheer purple silk and lace that slides over his hands like it’s made of air.

“It’s so beautiful,” Harry whispers, lifting the garment so he can study it in the flickering torchlight. It’s a silk robe cut with wide panels of lace at the sides, thin and delicate and shimmering in the firelight.

“I had it customized just for you,” Louis explains, pulling Harry’s hand down a bit so he can peer over the top of the robe and point to the left breast, where Harry’s name is embroidered in thin, looping cursive. Harry runs a thumb over the stitching reverently. He wants to put it on immediately.

Still seated in Louis’ lap, Harry sets the robe gently on the bed, the struggles out of his school robes, for once grateful for the dress code that makes it easy to undress without getting off Louis’ lap. Once he’s stripped down to his pants, Harry pulls the robe on and belts it loosely, humming in admiration as he studies the deep vee at the front and the way the hem just skims the tops of his thighs.

He’s just about to lean in and kiss Louis in thanks when Louis says, “Wait, you have one more!”

Unsure of what else Louis could possibly have gotten him - a matching pair of slippers, perhaps - he lifts the second box. It’s a long, narrow one, and when he glances at Louis, his expression is unreadable, a confusing mixture of emotions that Harry doesn’t have the patience to sort out, so he just tears into the box without trying. Brow furrowed in confusion, Harry folds back tissue paper and pulls out -

“A dildo? Lou - oh!”

As he clutches it in his hand, the toy begins to change colors, from crystal clear to a deep, swirling blue.

“What on Earth?” Harry mutters, baffled when Louis hums and reaches into the box for a card he’s missed.

“Dark blue,” he reads off. “Means you’re feeling romantic. Passionate.”

“What?” Dazed, Harry lifts his gaze to Louis’, finds Louis watching him in amusement. As Harry watches Louis, waiting for an explanation, the dildo fades from blue to a pale green.

“Ah,” Louis says sagely, regarding the card again. “Green. Uncertainty, mixed emotions. I think the toy is trying to tell me that you’re confused.”

“Louis,” Harry starts with a surprised laugh. “Is this - a _mood dildo_?”

“Yeah!” Louis giggles, taking it from Harry and presenting it to him. “And, you know, once you get going, it can sense how you want it and it just -”

“Stop,” Harry gasps, clapping his hands over Louis’ mouth. Louis’ eyes are sparkling over the tops of his fingers, and he nips playfully at Harry’s palm before sticking his tongue out and licking it. Harry should have seen that coming.

He wipes his hand on the duvet, then plucks the dildo out of Louis’ hand and sets it back in the box. As soon as he lets go of it, the toy turns to clear crystal again, innocent and unassuming. Well, as innocent as a dildo can be, he supposes.

“That’s very clever,” Harry concedes, giving in to a smile at Louis’ self-satisfied expression. “We can play with that later, but for now...”

He trails off as he drops his hands to the bow at his hip and unbelts his new robe. His nipples are already pebbled in the chill seeping in through the wall of windows and there’s a flame flickering to life in the pit of his stomach at the way Louis’ eyes have gone molten and dark, at the way his hands have slipped inside of the robe to grip his hips and tug him farther onto his lap.

“Lou,” Harry whispers, “I really hope you thought to pack lube.”

“Please,” Louis snorts, palming at Harry’s arse with one hand while he reaches underneath a pillow with the other. When he tugs his hand out, he’s holding a massive bottle of lube. Harry’s belly jumps in anticipation, cock hardening in his pants. They have two days in Paris and he knows they should explore, but he would rather stay in this room and use up that entire bottle.

When he tells Louis exactly that, Louis groans and rolls them over, pinning Harry to the mattress and grinding against him. Harry throws his head back on a moan, shivering at the feeling of Louis on top of him, against him, delicious pressure on his rapidly hardening cock. He wraps his legs around Louis’ waist and ruts up, seeking more, but Louis clucks his tongue and sits back on his haunches so he can strip off.

Harry watches with hungry eyes as Louis tugs his robes over his head, then peels out of his shirt and pants. He’s gorgeous, smooth and tanned and beautiful. Harry wants to put his mouth on him.

Before Harry can move, though, Louis ducks his head and closes his mouth around one of his nipples, sinking his teeth in and flicking his tongue over the bud until Harry is writhing and holding Louis against him with fingers threaded through his hair. It’s so much all at once - soft silk against his skin, Louis’ mouth on his nipple, stubble rough against the skin of his chest, the heel of Louis’ hand pressed firm against the underside of his dick through the thin layer of his briefs. Louis nips his way down to one of Harry’s smaller nipples, biting and sucking at each nipple in turn until Harry’s chest is heaving and his entire body is tingling, on fire, trembling and ready and waiting.

“Louis,” Harry gasps, voice breaking on another moan when Louis wraps his fingers around his cock through his pants and rubs the pad of his thumb over his leaking slit.

“What is it?” Louis murmurs, tugging at Harry’s tender nipples with his free hand, not giving him a second to breathe. “What do you want?”

“You,” Harry whimpers, fighting to collect his thoughts. He wants to touch Louis, wants to kiss him, wants to feel Louis’ body against him, inside of him. “Want to suck you.”

He feels Louis shudder against him, and then Louis is crawling up his body, knees on either side of his torso, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock and the other tugging at Harry’s shoulder until he props himself up on his elbows.

Harry feels wild, hair tangled around his shoulders, robe hanging off his arms, his entire body glistening with sweat and his pulse pounding in his throat, his wrists, the pit of his stomach, his dick. He opens his mouth without a word, eyes on Louis’, and waits for Louis to feed his cock into his mouth, lets out a sharp, helpless moan when he finally does. He loves this - loves how Louis tastes, loves the weight of him on his tongue, loves how full he feels as Louis pushes in slowly slowly, shallow thrusts at first while Harry laps at the head and tongues at his slit, eliciting soft hisses and encouraging moans.

His eyes finally flutter shut when Louis pushes in further, cheeks hollowing and tongue curling around the underside of Louis’ cock as he sucks him down down down. He swallows instinctively when the head of Louis’ dick hits the back of his throat, sucking in a sharp breath, fingers twisting in the duvet and toes curling down against the mattress. This is his favorite part, taking Louis as deep as he can, seeing just how far he can go.

“Harry, fuck,” Louis groans, burying his hands in Harry’s hair and scratching lightly at his scalp. “You’re so good. Gorgeous.”

Harry flushes with the praise and swallows around Louis again and again, humming with pleasure as Louis pumps his hips slowly, giving Harry time to adjust to the weight of him, the stretch of his lips around him.

Harry doesn’t want time to adjust. He’s just about to lift one hand and pull Louis in closer when Louis pulls out altogether, earning him a disappointed whimper and Harry’s grasping, seeking hands as he falls back to the mattress. His lips are swollen, throat scratchy and sore, but he _wants_ , wants to feel Louis nudging at the back of his throat again, wants to make him come.

“Darling,” Louis purrs, brushing Harry’s hair off his face. “Don’t want to come yet, want to be inside of you.”

“Yes,” Harry moans immediately, twisting to try and feel around for the lube.

Impatience jitters under his skin, and Louis clucks his tongue, wraps a gentle hand around his wrist and pulls him up a bit so he can carefully drag the robe off his arms and toss it to the end of the bed. “Don’t want to ruin it,” he explains, then stretches Harry’s hand back to wrap around the top of the headboard. “I’ve got you, love,” he murmurs, ducking down to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

“Please,” Harry whispers, staring up at him with wide, hazy eyes. Everything has gone blurry with the urgency simmering in his veins. As if he can read Harry - and Harry knows he can, knows he’s always been able to - Louis wastes no more time. He shuffles back on the bed so he can pull Harry’s pants off, then bends his knees and spreads them before squeezing some lube out onto his fingers.

His eyes flutter shut the moment he feels the pads of Louis’ fingers teasing at his hole, slicking him up a bit before he pushes the tip of a finger past his rim. “Yes,” Harry moans, fingers flexing against the unforgiving wood of the headboard. He can feel his cock leaking precome against his tummy, can feel the muscles in his thighs straining. His throat works around another moan as Louis’ finger sinks in past the second knuckle and crooks immediately, stretching him slowly, tortuously.

“Don’t tease,” Harry warns, clenching around Louis’ finger, and Louis lets out a sharp laugh.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers again, stroking his other hand up the inside of Harry’s thigh. Then he grips him tight, fingertips digging into the muscle hard enough to bruise, and starts to fuck into him, hard and fast. Harry barely has time to catch his breath before he’s adding a second finger, twisting and scissoring them until Harry is gasping and squirming and begging for a third.

Three nearly sends him over the edge, and Harry has to let go of the headboard with one hand so he can grip the base of his cock and steady himself. “Lou,” he babbles, toes curling and uncurling against the blankets, “I’m ready, Lou, if you don’t fuck me now, ‘m gonna come, please -”

“Yeah,” Louis growls, tugging Harry’s hand off his cock and crooking his fingers so they rub relentlessly over his prostate.

Unable to help it, Harry comes with a broken, shuddering moan, clenching around Louis’ fingers as his orgasm washes over him in waves. Louis works him through it, fingers fucking into him relentlessly, until Harry is left shivering and oversensitive.

“Oh, fuck, Lou,” Harry groans, trying to pull away from him, but Louis doesn’t let him. He shifts his grip to Harry’s hip and holds him in place, working his fingers against his prostate so he doesn’t have a chance to come down.

Harry can’t stop shivering, fingers clutching at Louis’ shoulders as he squirms against him. “Louis,” he whimpers, thighs falling apart, his body too spent to hold them up any longer. He feels over-worked, spangled, blood singing in his veins as Louis works him up again. “Please, I’m -”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Louis tugs his fingers out and, before Harry can even take a breath, replaces them with his cock. He pushes into Harry in one single, sharp thrust that has Harry gasping and arching off the bed, dick twitching painfully against his belly.

This has always been one of Harry’s favorite things, Louis pushing him to his limits, and it leaves him pleasantly shivery and weak-limbed for hours afterward. He whines as Louis settles on top of him, belly pressed tight against the underside of his cock. It’s just this side of too much, but in the best way possible. Harry wraps himself around Louis, legs around his waist, arms around his shoulders, and clings as Louis fucks him, slow, deep thrusts that leave his fingertips tingling and have his breaths coming out in short, whimpering pants.

He feels on edge again already, overwhelmed by the thickness of Louis inside him, the weight of Louis on top of him, the damp, open-mouthed kisses Louis is pressing into his collarbone. He scratches at the skin of Louis’ back, asking silently for more, harder, faster, and Louis obliges. He levers himself up onto his hands and snaps his hips, fucking him sharp and fast, pulling Harry's thighs up and pressing them against his chest so he can get deeper, can angle himself so his cock nudges against Harry’s prostate with every drag of his hips.

Lost, drowning, his entire body on fire, Harry digs his nails into Louis’ shoulders and arches his back, seeking friction against Louis’ stomach. The noise he makes when Louis wraps a hand around him is shattered, and he comes a moment later with Louis’ name on his lips, spilling over his knuckles and tightening around him, dragging Louis over the edge along with him.

Weightless, boneless, Harry floats on the edge of consciousness, vaguely aware of Louis’ weight on top of him, then of that weight lifting, then of the cold press of a damp cloth to his skin. By the time he floats back down to earth, Louis is tugging a blanket over the both of them, his eyes luminous, fringe stuck to his forehead and cheeks rosy still. Harry feels like he’s glowing.

“Y’know,” he slurs, brain working at a sluggish pace, “don’t think the fairy dust worked.”

It takes Louis a moment to get what he’s saying, brow furrowed, and then he snorts out a laugh, brushing Harry’s hair off his face with gentle fingers.“I’ll file a complaint. Get our money back.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth pull up into a weak smile and he burrows into Louis’ chest, nearly purring when Louis starts to play with his hair, dragging his fingers through it and scratching gently at his scalp. His mind is wandering, barely able to hold onto a concrete thought. “No,” he says hazily, though he’s not quite sure why. He’s so sleepy.

“Not enough?” Louis asks. “I can take out an ad in the Daily Prophet. _French Cafe Serves Counterfeit Fairy Dust._ ”

“ _No_ ,” Harry giggles, pressing his face to Louis’ warm skin. He’s starting to come down, a bit, he thinks. “We’d never be able to come back.”

“Do you want to come back?” Louis asks, ducking his head to press a kiss to Harry’s temple.

Everything feels warm and lovely, Harry’s limbs pleasantly heavy, like he’s being dragged into the depths of the soft mattress. He knows Louis won’t let him sink. “‘S beautiful,” he sighs, losing his battle with consciousness. He’s so tired.

“ _You’re_ beautiful,” Louis whispers.

Harry’s mouth stretches into a smile, belly suffused with warmth, and he manages to drawl a barely audible, “No, you,” before he’s drifting off to sleep.

;;

Valentine’s Day overtakes the castle in a tidal wave of pinks and reds, giggling teenagers and traded furtive looks across halls and classrooms, and even though he and Louis celebrated early, Harry gets right into the spirit, himself. He paints his toenails bright red and charms pink stripes around the cuffs of his robes, a different shade for each day of the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, itself. The brightness of the holiday and excitement that has flooded the castle helps take Harry’s mind off the nausea that’s sent him running for the toilets between classes most days since they returned from Paris. Luckily, he feels the worst of it in the evenings, when Louis isn’t around to witness him being sick and worry.

It’s a fun week, illness aside, and the excitement in the air mounts with each passing day, until the castle is practically bursting with it. On Tuesday, a blushing, stammering Slytherin fifth year asks about magical roses in class, sending not-so-covert glances toward another girl at her table, so Harry smiles indulgently and spends the last fifteen minutes of the lesson showing them all the singing roses they have in Greenhouse Four and the tulips that, when grown from a bulb, light up in the presence of the cultivator’s true love. On Wednesday, Harry spends his entire lesson with the first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs cutting Blushing Daisies and sorting them into bunches for the Valentine’s Day deliveries. Once class has ended, he lets each of the students take a bunch for themselves, delighting over the looks on their faces as they stroke the petals and watch in fascination as the little flowers turn from white to rosy red.

That evening, exhausted and worn out from being sick in the toilet in his unused chambers, Harry collapses into the chair at his desk with his office door propped open and pulls a thick stack of parchment toward himself. A few of his sixth years have asked if they could come pick up their graded essays on poisonous plants of Britain and how to treat them, so he may as well grade his third year’s essays while he waits for them to stop by.

“Oh, Morgan,” Harry sighs, scratching out a paragraph on wormwood that is entirely made up. His stomach rolls unpleasantly, but he just ignores it and continues to make notes on Morgan’s fabricated essay.

He’s just marked it with a ‘38%’ and a frowny face when a knock sounds on the door.

“Professor?” Jessie, asks, stepping into the room with a nervous smile. She’s got two more sixth years trailing behind her.

“Yes, come on in, girls.” Harry pushes the third year’s essays aside, secretly grateful for the distraction and the excuse to not have to grade any more of them for the moment. “I have your essays right here.”

“I like the stripes,” Natasha comments, indicating the pale pink bands around the cuffs of his robes.

“Oh, thank you!” Harry beams at her as he hands her a rolled up bit of parchment. “Great job on the essays, girls. I know you’re only in year six, but you’re all right on track for an ‘outstanding’ on your N.E.W.T.”

“Oh, Merlin, please don’t remind me that those are coming up.” Jessie exchanges a nervous laugh with Sophie, then waves her essay at Harry and says, “Thanks, Professor Styles! See you tomorrow.”

Harry nods and watches them leave, mind already back on the stack of ungraded essays sitting in front of him. He’s not expecting it when the girls stop in the doorway and Natasha turns back to him and asks, “Hey, Professor, d’you have a Valentine?”

“Hmm?” he asks, blinking at them. The question registers a moment later and he flounders for an answer, not quite sure how to respond when his valentine is still a secret. In the end, he settles on a simple, “Oh, no.”

Natasha levels him a considering look, then says, “You and Professor Elara -”

“ _No_ ,” Harry interrupts, laughing a little in surprise. He has no idea where these girls have gotten the idea that he and Iona are interested in each other, or that this is an appropriate conversation in the first place. “Girls, this is really -”

“Professor Payne, then?” Jessie asks, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Harry’s voice comes out strangled and desperate when he says, “ _Girls_ , please, this is really not very appropriate. Go on, go down to dinner, you don’t want to be late and miss all the food.”

“Dinner’s not for another hour, Professor,” Sophie smirks, but they trade secretive looks before twirling out of the room. Harry can hear them whispering furiously to each other as they move down the hall, and he drops his head into his hands with a groan.

He’s useless after that exchange, too distracted to go back to his grading. He sits quietly at his desk and tries to read while he waits for more sixth years to stop by, but no one does. Finally, once he hears the Ravenclaws heading down to dinner, he rolls up the essays and tucks them into his bag, drops it off in Louis’ office, and heads down to the Great Hall. He’s quite hungry, now that he thinks about it, stomach empty from being sick earlier. He hopes the house elves have made shepherd’s pie, he’s got a bit of a hankering for it.

Louis is already seated at the staff table when Harry slips into his chair beside him. Mindful of the watchful gaze of his curious sixth years, Harry presses a knuckle to Louis’ thigh underneath the table by way of greeting, then reaches for the pumpkin juice without a word.

“Evening, Harold,” Louis says brightly, tangling their fingers briefly and deliberately around the handle of the pitcher.

Harry ducks his head to hide the blush spreading furiously across his face, hoping desperately that the girls aren’t watching him right now.

Louis’ voice is amused when he asks, “Everything alright, Hazza?”

Sighing, Harry straightens up and forces himself to relax a bit. He’s a bloody adult, for Merlin’s sake, and a professor at that. He doesn’t need to police his friendliness toward his colleagues.

“Yes,” he says with another sigh, stealing a quick glance at Louis. “I just had a... weird exchange with a few of my sixth years this evening.”

“Weird how?” Louis asks, concern creeping into his tone, but Harry dismisses that with a quick wave of his hand.

“They were just asking after my Valentine’s Day plans, and decided they needed to find me a valentine.”

When he chances another look at Louis, he finds Louis scowling, eyebrows drawn into a flat, angry line.

“Oh, don’t be jealous,” Harry whispers, clucking his tongue. “You know I couldn’t tell them. Anyway, they suggested _Iona_ , and when I shot that down, decided I should ask Liam to be my valentine.”

Louis chokes at that, wheezing as he fights to swallow the forkful of roast chicken he’s just put in his mouth. “ _Liam_?” he asks, pounding on his own chest. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Harry laughs, suddenly quite happy. There is, indeed, shepherd’s pie tonight, and he plans to follow it up with a massive serving of treacle tart.

Louis’ voice is a low, tense growl when he says, “If Liam even tries -”

“Oh, please,” Harry giggles.

Before he can say anything else, Liam leans across Louis from his other side and asks, “What does Liam want to try?”

“Sophie Branwood and Jessie Morely think I should ask you to be my valentine tomorrow.”

Liam’s eyebrows shoot up and he says, “Well, that’s lovely of them, but I have a valentine already.” His surprised expression settles into a smirk, and Harry watches as Liam elbows Louis and says, “What about Tommo, eh? He’s not got a valentine yet.”

Harry flushes, struggling to stammer out a response, but Louis just sighs and clasps Liam’s shoulder, says dramatically, “I’ve already asked, Liam, he won’t have me.”

Harry swears he sees something flash in Liam’s eyes as he glances between the two of them, but it’s gone in an instant, and then he’s leaning back and digging back into his plate of food. “That’s a shame,” he says mildly, “I think you two would be quite cute together.”

“Oh,” Harry says faintly, digging his nails into the heel of his palm. “Thanks, man.”

“Sure,” Liam says with a cheeky wink, and then he changes the subject to the upcoming Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

Harry spends the rest of dinner trying to puzzle that conversation out and decide whether or not Liam has figured out what’s going on. In the end, he decides there’s no way he knows, otherwise he’d have said something, surely. They’re fine. For now.

;;

The frost melts and the days lengthen and the sun peeks cautiously from behind the heavy wintery clouds as the end of February approaches. Harry’s inconsistent exhaustion and nausea leave him tense and irritable, but he makes a concerted effort to not let it show. He’s just ready for spring, he thinks, ready for the grass to return and to hear birds twittering outside the window in the mornings, is certainly ready to shove his heavy winter robes to the back of his closet and trade them in for lighter, more comfortable ones.

“Lou, where is my blue top?” Harry calls from inside of the closet. It’s too early on a Monday morning and it’s nearly time to head down to breakfast. He’s been up for nearly an hour now, too restless to sleep through the night lately, but he’s just been lounging around the room in nothing but pants and a robe and, unfortunately, it’s time to put real clothes on again. He just can’t find the shirt he wants.

“Which one?” Louis asks, stepping into the small room behind Harry and hooking his chin over his shoulder.

“The one with the little bees on it. You know, the button up.”

“I think it’s back at the house, love,” Louis hums, reaching around Harry to slip a hand inside the gaping vee of his robe. He flattens his palm against Harry’s chest and strokes his thumb over his skin, sending little tingles down Harry’s spine.

Shoulders slumping, Harry mutters, “Bollocks.”

“What about this one?” Louis pulls his hand out of Harry’s robe and reaches for another one of Harry’s favorites. Harry hums in consideration as Louis pulls it off the hanger and shakes it out, smiles when Louis presses a soft kiss to the edge of his jaw and whispers, “It matches your eyes.”

Harry groans at the line, but he can’t help the little laugh that slips out as he takes the shirt from Louis and turns around. “Are you trying to woo me, Tomlinson?”

“That depends. Is it working?”

“We have to be at breakfast in less than an hour,” Harry warns, but Louis just grins, swift and sharp, and nips the shirt out of Harry’s hand, then sinks to his knees right there in the closet.

“You underestimate me,” he hums, unbelting Harry’s robe and pushing the panels aside.

Harry watches, heart in his throat, as Louis smooths his palms over his tummy, gone a bit soft from winter sluggishness. Louis doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he leans in to nip at the swells of his hips, scrapes his teeth across the laurels inked into his skin, ends with a tender kiss just below his navel. Tipping his head back to meet Harry’s eyes, Louis asks, “How much time do you need to get ready?”

Carding his fingers through Louis’ hair, Harry thinks for a moment, then shrugs and answers, “Fifteen minutes.”

“You’ll have thirty.”

Heat curls in the pit of Harry’s stomach at the promise in Louis’ voice, and as Louis tugs his pants down his thighs, he gasps out, challenging, “Big talker.”

Louis’ answering smile is wolf-like, the challenge glittering in his eyes. “Make that thirty-five.”

 

It takes Harry an embarrassingly short six minutes to come, eight to get Louis off, and fifteen to wash the come off his face and out of his hair. By the time they’re ready to head down to breakfast, he feels loose and happy, despite the way his jeans are pinching at the skin of his stomach underneath his robes. He sends Louis ahead so it won’t be too obvious that they’re arriving together, stays behind and fusses with his hair for the few minutes they usually wait. It’s still damp and curling madly about his ears, and there’s one stubborn lock that just won’t stay out of his face.

He’s just getting ready to leave, stubborn curl finally tamed with a straightening spell Gemma taught him, when the tightness of his jeans gets too irritating to stand. With a frustrated sigh, Harry lifts his robes and frowns down at the waistband of his jeans. He could just go change, but he rather likes this pair. He knows he’s seen his sister use a hair-tie to loosen her jeans before, so trying to recall exactly how she’d done it, he tugs one off his wrist and unbuttons them so he can loop the hair-tie through the buttonhole and then secure the button in the hair-tie. The pinching lets up immediately, and Harry sighs in relief.

“Time to lay off the shepherd’s pie, Harry,” he mutters to himself, patting his belly. At least it will be warm enough to start running again soon.

 

“Professor Styles?”

Harry turns from where he’s been sorting fertilizers to find one of his seventh years standing with her hands clasped behind her back, eyes wide and hesitant. She’s the only one left in the greenhouse, as the rest of the seventh years have already left to head back up to the castle

“Yes, Alissa? What can I do for you?”

Alissa scratches her head, nervous and jittery, and asks, “I was just wondering - I should probably ask Nurse Cara, but -”

Brow furrowed, Harry sets down the jar of dragon dung he’d been holding and turns to face Alissa fully. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she laughs, shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “No, nothing’s wrong, I’m fine, I just - so my sister is pregnant, right, and she’s had the most horrid morning sickness, and I just wondered if maybe there was like. An herb or a flower or something she could mix into her tea, or make into a potion, I don’t know, that would help with the nausea?”

“Oh!” Relief settles in Harry’s chest and he laughs, then leads Alissa out of Greenhouse Five and over to Greenhouse One. “Yes, absolutely. The best, I’d say, would probably be ginger. It’s a bit strong, so if she’d rather, peppermint works well, too. Some even find that lemon juice helps.”

Harry grabs a small pouch from the table by the door, then shows Alissa over to a wide trough overflowing with mint and the long, slender grassy heads of ginger root. He motions to her to start pulling up some sprigs of mint, then starts to dig up a few ginger roots and drops them into the pouch.

“Here, you can send this to her.”

“Thanks,” Alissa breathes, taking the pouch from Harry and tucking the mint leaves in carefully alongside the ginger. “Don’t know why they call it morning sickness, you know. Poppy is always sick in the evenings, it’s terrible. She can’t sleep for ages afterward.”

“Tell her to place some sprigs of lavender and chamomile beneath her pillow, that should help.”

“Thank you _so_ much, Professor Styles. I’ll send this to her right away.”

“Sure,” Harry says easily, waving off the thank you. “Any time. I hope it helps.”

“I’ll let you know if it does!” And with one last grateful wave, Alissa slips out of the greenhouse and heads back up to the castle.

Humming to himself, pleased that he was able to help, Harry heads back to Greenhouse Five so he can finish organizing the fertilizer additives. He’s done for the day and could do with a nap, but the mess will niggle at the back of his mind all night if he doesn’t.

“Dragon dung, essence of monk fish, bowtruckle saliva,” Harry mutters to himself, lining up matching bottles in neat little rows as he goes. “Standard cow dung.”

One of his second years must have left one of the bottles open, because the overpowering scent of cow dung wafts toward Harry and he gags, suddenly very grateful that his nausea seems to have held off for today. Back to humming, Harry thinks of the conversation he’s just had with Alissa. Why _do_ they call it morning sickness, he wonders? He knows his mum was always sick in the mornings, but Louis’ mum had been sick in the middle of the night when she was pregnant with the twins, and -

Harry freezes, and the jar of dried rambutan skins he’d been holding slips from his hand and shatters on the ground. He can’t -

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head. Definitely not.

Snorting, amused by his own silly reaction, Harry closes his eyes and tries to relax again. There’s no way he’s pregnant, he’s been taking his _Adversus fordus_ potion every month, just like he’s supposed to. He’s done everything right, he’s sure of it.

Nonetheless, Harry can’t concentrate on arranging the rest of the bottles once the idea has taken root, so, with only half the shelf done, Harry casts a quick _Scourgify_ charm to clean off his hands, washes them in the enormous basin sink by the door, then hurries back up to the castle. He can’t quite tell if the roiling in his belly is down to his recent sporadic bouts of nausea or if it’s just a product of being nervous, but he takes the shortcut up to his chambers anyway, just in case he needs to find a toilet quickly.

Scooting out from behind the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, Harry hurries across the hall and squeezes through the door to Louis’ office, then collapses back against and sucks in a slow, deep breath to try and calm his racing heart. He just needs to check his supply of potions and make absolutely certain that he hasn’t missed a dose. And even if he has, it doesn’t necessarily mean -

No. Harry shakes that thought off as he crosses the room to their chambers. No sense in getting ahead of himself. The bag he keeps his potion supply in is sitting on the desk in the corner, and Harry crosses to it immediately, stopping before it so he can press a calming hand to his stomach.

“Alright, it’s February,” he says aloud, thinking for a moment. “I made them back in July, so I should have four more doses.”

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, Harry settles shaking hands on the bag’s clasp, then sucks in a deep breath, steels himself, and flips it open.

All of the breath leaves him in one sharp whoosh.

There are five little bottles in the bag, sitting in a neat, unassuming row between his supply of dittany and a few flasks of essence of nettles. Alright, so he missed one dose. Dropping into the desk chair, Harry puts his fingers to his temple and tries to think back. He definitely took his February dose, and is relatively certain he took January’s.

“Well, there’s no way I’m three months pregnant,” he reassures himself, pushing to his feet and shutting the bag with a firm, reassuring click. He’s just been feeling poorly, that’s all. He should go visit Cara and let her prescribe him something stronger than a Pepper-Up Potion. Later.

Spinning in a slow circle, Harry tries to find something to take his mind off the missing dose. It’s nothing, he tells himself again and again as he picks up a stack of essays his fifth years turned in that morning. May as well get a head start on them.

He manages to get through two paragraphs of the first essay before he’s pushing back from the desk and striding from the room. The owlery isn’t far from Ravenclaw Tower, he’ll just pop up there and ask Niall to send him a pregnancy test. Just to ease his mind.

The sun has already slipped past the horizon, and Harry is met with dozens of pairs of tiny, glittering eyes when he enters the wide, circular room. Mouse bones crunch underfoot as he makes his way over to a familiar set of wide black eyes.

“Hello, Ariadne,” he croons, lifting his arm and beckoning her to him. Twitching her head, Ariadne spreads her massive wings and flutters down from the rafters to land gently on Harry’s forearm. He strokes the back of her head for a minute, ruffling her soft gray feathers, then says, “Darling, could you take this to Niall for me?”

Ariadne clicks her beak and cocks her head, one liquid eye trained on Harry’s face as she lifts her leg for Harry to attach the tiny scroll. He ties it on there quickly and efficiently, not wanting to waste any time. Then, with one last stroke down her back, Harry throws his arm out and sends Ariadne off into the night.

It’s time for dinner by the time Harry gets back downstairs, and he manages to forget all about his worries as he tucks into a delicious, hearty stew and listens to the story Liam is telling about a mishap with a bunch of nifflers that morning. His anxiety returns as soon as dessert appears and he remembers his too-tight jeans, but Harry thinks he deserves at least a cookie for his nerves, especially since Louis is on hallway patrol that evening and won’t be in the room to distract him.

Once dinner has ended, Harry stays seated for a few minutes while all of the students flock toward the doors. Louis has a hand on his knee underneath the table, fingertips catching on the inseam of his jeans.

“I hate when you have hall duty without me,” Harry mutters, laying a hand on top of Louis’ and threading their fingers together.

“Me too,” Louis sighs. “I’ll be back around midnight, but don’t wait up, okay? You haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”

Harry can’t help the soft little smile that curls the corners of his mouth at the concern in Louis’ voice. “I’ll be fine, Lou,” he chides, squeezing his hand. When Louis just scowls at him, Harry sighs and says, “Fine, alright, I’ll try to sleep before you get back. No promises, though, I’m rubbish at sleeping without you.”

When he meets Louis’ gaze, the look in his eyes is so intense, Harry shivers. “I really wish I could kiss you right now,” Louis whispers.

Shaking his head, Harry tightens his grip on Louis’ hand and promises, “Later.”

“Right,” Liam says loudly, clapping a hand on the table. “You ready for patrol, Louis?”

“I was born ready,” Louis quips, letting go of Harry’s leg so he can push back from the table. Quirking a smile at Harry, he bows at the waist and says, “Harold.”

“Lewis,” Harry nods, then watches the two of them slip out of the room. He sits in his seat for another minute, staring blankly down at the clean table, before shaking himself out of his stupor. Right. Back up to the room to check and see if Ariadne has returned with his parcel.

To calm himself down a bit, Harry takes the long way back up to the tower. The halls have emptied of students and he doesn’t run into Louis or Liam as he trudges slowly up the varying staircases, greeting the occupants of paintings along the way. By the time he gets back to their chambers, he feels much calmer, more certain that he’s definitely _not_ pregnant. It’s been too long since he missed a dose, he’d have known sooner if he was. Everything is fine.

Harry strolls through Louis’ office and enters their room to fine Ariadne perched on the window sill outside, tapping her beak impatiently against the glass. He hurries to the window and throws it open so she can swoop inside and hand off a small parcel wrapped hastily in that morning’s Daily Prophet.

“Thanks, love,” Harry murmurs, taking a moment to rub her neck and feed her a few owl treats before she slips back out into the night. “Alright,” Harry mutters to himself as he pulls the parcel open with trembling fingers.

Inside of the newspaper is a box labeled ‘W.P.T.: wizard’s pregnancy test - accurate results faster than you can say ‘abra cadabra’!’ and a tiny scroll. Setting the box aside, Harry unrolls the small piece of parchment and squints down at Niall’s untidy scrawl.

            _R u serious?? Congrats, bro! Don’t forget - I call dibs on godfather._

Groaning, Harry tosses the note into the fireplace and grabs the box, then heads into the bathroom, reading the instructions on the back as he goes. Simple enough, he thinks. Wee on the stick, set it aside, then wait two minutes for the results. Somehow, Niall’s note has managed to calm him down more than any of his own self-reassurances. He feels strangely zen as he shucks his robe and shirt and tugs off his jeans, barely registers what he’s doing as he wees on the little stick, then sets it on the side of the sink to work its magic.

Leaving his clothes in the bathroom - he’s much more comfortable in just pants, anyway - he wanders back out into the bedroom and takes his seat at the desk again. He’s not anywhere close to tired, he may as well work on the essays.

Harry buries himself in his work, loses track of time as he grades essay after essay. He only comes to when the door to the room swings open and Louis says, “Hazza? Why are you still up?”

“Mm?” Harry asks, looking up from the essay he’s working on with hazy, unfocused eyes. His back aches from the way he’s been hunched over the desk for the past few hours, but he’s only got one more after this, he may as well stick it out.

“Have you been working this whole time?” Louis asks as he starts to shed his clothing. Harry just nods, quill still poised over the parchment, ready for him to make another comment. Louis sighs. “Alright, keep going, I’m just going to wash up.”

Harry returns to his grading without another word, manages to finish the essay before the bathroom door opens and he hears Louis’ voice, shrill and bemused, ask, “Hazza? Is there something you need to tell me?”

“What?” Harry asks vaguely, already reading the first sentence of the last essay. Louis repeats his name, though, voice gone reedy with urgency, so Harry snaps himself out of his grading zone and drops his quill, straightening out of his slouch with an almighty groan. “Oh, that feels so good,” he whines as he stretches his back out, then works the kinks out of his neck. Finally, feeling loose and sleepy, he turns to face Louis and asks, “What’s up, Lou?”

In lieu of a response, Louis simply holds up a slender white stick. Blood drains from Harry’s face and he gasps. _Shit_ , he forgot to check the test. He wanted to get rid of it before Louis returned. No need to scare him with a false alarm.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” Louis asks again, still holding the pregnancy test up.

Laughing in a way he hopes comes off as casual, Harry pushes out of the chair and starts toward Louis, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Nah, it was just a scare. I missed a dose of my _fordus_ potion back in November or December, but it’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Louis asks, voice curiously thin.

Frowning, Harry stops in front of Louis and takes the test from him. “Yeah, I had Niall send me a test just in case, but I’m sure I’d have known sooner if I was -” Harry’s voice dies in his throat as he looks down at the test. There, printed on the little window at the end of the stick, is a tiny moving picture of a baby. “Pregnant,” Harry whispers, barely audible underneath the roaring in his ears. “What?”

“Hazza -” Louis starts, but Harry can’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his throat. He stumbles back toward the bed and sits down so hard his teeth clack together. He can’t take his eyes off the little moving baby. There’s alarm in Louis’ voice when he crouches down at Harry’s feet and asks, “Harry? Babe, hey, look at me.”

Harry tears his eyes off the test in his hands and meets Louis’ gaze. He’s shaking.

“ _Hey_ ,” Louis clucks, lifting his hands to cup Harry’s cheeks. “None of that, now.”

Harry realizes dimly that Louis is swiping his thumbs through tear tracks and he gasps, “Sorry, I -”

He can’t finish. Louis shakes his head in confusion and clambers up onto the bed, turning Harry to face him. “Why are you apologizing?” he asks, baffled. “I thought you were ready for this?”

“No, I - _yes_ , I think. I think I’m just in shock?” he says with a watery laugh. “We were going to wait till the summer, now I’ve gone and messed it all up -”

“ _No_ ,” Louis interrupts, so fiercely it throws Harry completely off track. “I don’t care, it doesn’t matter anymore, I don’t want to hear any apologies. We’re just going to have to tell Higgins sooner.”

Blinking slowly at Louis, at the unexpected intensity of his expression, Harry takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then asks, “D’you think he’ll be angry?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Louis says breezily, shrugging off all of Harry’s worries just like that. Sucking in a breath, he tries to draw strength and confidence from Louis. His entire facade of bravado shatters the moment Louis lays a gentle hand against his stomach and says, voice immeasurably soft, “This is all I care about.”

“Lou,” Harry breathes, half a laugh, half a sob, and then Louis is gathering him into a hug, so tight he can barely breathe.

Harry clutches at the back of Louis’ shirt, grip so tight he can feel threads tearing, and buries his face in the crook of Louis’ neck, completely and utterly overwhelmed. They sit like that for ages, wrapped up in each other, just clinging, until Harry realizes, “Oh, god, I drank so much in France.”

“It’s fine, I’m sure it’s fine,” Louis soothes, burying a hand in Harry’s hair and tugging his head back so he can kiss him, short and sweet. “We’ll go to St. Mungo’s on Saturday and get everything checked out.”

Eyes fluttering closed, Harry draws in a deep, ragged breath and nods, hums happily when Louis presses their lips together again and sinks immediately into the kiss. They kiss for what feels like hours, soft, easy, and unhurried, Louis’ hands roving Harry’s body reverently, until Harry’s lips feel swollen and puffy and he’s so sleepy he can barely keep his eyes open.

As if he can sense Harry’s exhaustion, Louis eases back onto the bed and rolls them onto their sides, pulling Harry against him. Harry goes easily when Louis turns him over so he can spoon up behind him, too sleepy to operate his limbs on his own anyway. Despite his exhaustion, a thrill runs up his spine when Louis settles a warm palm against his bare stomach. Burrowing back against Louis, Harry settles a hand on top of Louis’ and presses it firmly against his tummy. He knows there’s nothing to feel just yet, but it makes him feel - connected, somehow, nonetheless, and he knows Louis feels it too when he whispers against the back of his neck, “You’ve made me so happy, Harry, you have no idea.”

;;

Harry can’t sleep.

It’s not that he isn’t tired - he’s _knackered_ , actually, hadn’t slept a single wink the previous night. It’s just that every time he closes his eyes, he sees the small examination room at St. Mungo’s, sees the healer standing over him as he lay on the examination table, sees the projection in the center of the room, hovering, wispy and golden and terrifyingly beautiful.

Stifling a sigh, Harry rolls away from Louis, toward the bedside table, and reaches for his wand.

“ _Lumos minimus_ ,” he whispers, calling up a dim, narrow light at the tip of his wand. Then he plucks something small and square off the table and holds his wand up to it, so the surface of it catches the light.

Harry’s heart thuds painfully in his throat. There, right there on the little photograph, are two tiny moving shapes. Honestly, Harry thinks they look more like the muggle idea of aliens than humans at this point, but he’s only eleven weeks along, and the healer had said that was to be expected.

Eleven weeks. Eleven weeks _pregnant_. With _twins_. He hasn’t been able to put the photograph down for more than a few minutes at a time all day, and so the conversation they need to have about finally telling Higgins has been pushed off to a later date, once the shock and awe have worn off. Stroking a fingertip over the photograph, Harry sighs. He thinks that maybe, if there had only been one baby, he may have been able to get away with it for longer, though certainly not to the end of term. Now, though...

“Hazza?”

Cold fingertips touch the bare skin of Harry’s back, sending a shiver down his spine and goosebump rippling across his torso. Biting his lip, he rolls over onto his other side so he’s facing Louis, wand and photograph still clutched in his hands.

“Babe,” Louis sighs, smiling softly at Harry. He touches the tips of his fingers to Harry’s jaw. “You need to sleep, love.”

“I can’t,” Harry whispers. “My mind won’t shut off.”

“I wish I could help,” Louis murmurs, sliding his fingers up to press at Harry’s temple. The chill of his skin feels lovely, and Harry turns his face into Louis’ palm.

“I think,” Harry starts, watching avidly as one of the babies in the photo stretches its spindly arms, “it would help if we came up with a plan.”

“At three in the morning?” Louis’ voice is dry, amused. He sits up and plucks the photo out of Harry’s hand, sets it down in his lap. “Okay, I’ll just hold this while we talk, because otherwise you won’t hear a word I say.”

Harry frowns, fingertips itching to take the photo back, but he sits up as well and faces Louis on the bed, crosses his legs. Takes a deep breath. Laces his fingers in his lap and takes another breath, then lets it out in one long, gusty sigh. “We need to tell Higgins.”

Louis grimaces. “I know. The sooner we do it, the better.”

Biting his lip, Harry unlaces his fingers and lays one palm flat on his stomach. It’s soft, just the barest hint of tummy that, if he’s honest, just looks like he’s put on a bit of winter weight from all of the heavy foods they’ve been serving at Hogwarts. He doesn’t know much about being pregnant, but he guesses that he’s got a matter of weeks before he really starts to show. Billowy robes will afford him a few more weeks after that, certainly, but he thinks they’re looking at a timeline of two months, at best.

Harry ducks his head, eyes locked on the way his palm can curve just the tiniest bit around the lower part of his stomach. “I’m scared.”

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, voice much closer than it had been a moment ago. Harry looks up to find Louis nearly nose-to-nose, lets out an undignified squeak when he tugs Harry in against him and rolls them over so Louis is laying on top of him. “Do you trust me?” he asks, stroking his fingers through the loose curls at Harry’s temples.

“Yes, of course. Always,” Harry whispers, dragging his fingertips up Louis’ back. He shifts a bit on the mattress, parts his legs so Louis can slot between them more comfortably.

“I think,” Louis continues, spreading his fingers so he can drag the pad of his thumb across the dark circle beneath Harry’s eye, “that everything is going to be just fine. I have a feeling.”

“A _feeling_ ,” Harry repeats, deadpan.

“Yes, Harold, a _feeling_.”

Untangling his fingers from Harry’s hair, Louis scoots down the bed, pressing soft, fleeting kisses to the center of his torso as he goes. He stops once his face is level with Harry’s navel, then ducks his head and presses another kiss just there, lingering, his lips just brushing Harry’s skin. Harry’s heart is rabbiting in his chest and he feels a bit like he might pass out, this is all so new, so terrifying and beautiful and _amazing_.

“Can you believe,” Louis whispers, trailing his fingers reverently across the soft skin of Harry’s lower belly, “that we made tiny humans, and that they’re living inside of you? So small,” he says, wonder in his voice. “You can’t even tell they’re there yet.”

“Just give it a week or two,” Harry laughs, trying for breezy and landing closer to hysterical.

Louis’ head snaps up at the tone of his laughter, and he asks, fingers still pressed to his skin, “Are you scared? Of being pregnant, I mean.”

Harry thinks about it for a moment, thinks about the fact that he has _two_ tiny beings growing and developing inside of him, of the fact that soon he’ll have to get a whole new wardrobe, that he’ll eventually be so big it will be difficult to stand for very long and Louis will have to zip up his boots for him. “No,” he says decisively. “A bit nervous, maybe, as it’s my first time and it’s twins. Feels like I’ve skipped a few steps along the way, you know? But I’ve wanted this for so long, it feels like... a relief, I think.”

Louis’ eyes are dark and liquid in the dimness of the room, and his voice is earnest when he says, “It’s alright if you are, you know? Me, I’m so excited I feel like I could bloody fly.” He stops, then, and lets out a jubilant laugh that fills the room and makes Harry’s heart swell in his chest. “We’re having _twins_.”

He scrambles up, then, so he can sit between Harry’s splayed legs, and spreads both hands across Harry’s stomach, fingers overlapping in the center.

“We should tell our mums tomorrow. My mum has loads of books, we can send Ariadne to get them. I’d say use the internet, but it doesn’t work around here, does it?”

Now Louis is just talking nonsense. Frowning, Harry asks, “Internet?”

“Oh, muggle invention,” Louis says dismissively. “We can’t use computers around here anyway, electronics don’t work near the castle.”

“Oh! I like electricity,” Harry reassures Louis, remembering the light switches back at Louis’ mum’s house, and all the strange things she has in her kitchen. It’s amazing what muggles come up with to compensate for their lack of magic.

“I know you do, darling,” Louis says, expression gone soft and fond. “Are you feeling any better, now? Sleepy?”

“Very sleepy,” Harry nods, frowning at the heaviness of his eyelids and the drag of his limbs. It’s his bloody brain that won’t catch up. “But we haven’t really made a decision, have we?”

Harry shifts his legs on the mattress, suddenly uncomfortable. As if he knows exactly what Harry is thinking, Louis scoots out from between his legs and stretches out alongside him, and when Harry rolls onto his side, he shuffles up behind him and hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder. Humming contentedly, Harry reaches back for Louis’ hand and draws it over his side so he can flatten it against his tummy.

“How about this,” Louis starts, chest rumbling against Harry’s back. “We wait until you start to show.”

“So a few weeks, then,” Harry nods. He thinks he can live with that. That will give him enough time to really gear himself up for telling Higgins.

Louis voice is positively giddy when he repeats, “A few _weeks_.” His hand presses more firmly against Harry’s stomach and he whispers, “I can’t bloody wait.”

;;

Jay sends them so many books over the next week that by midweek, Ariadne refuses to fly back out and they have to switch to school owls. Harry’s favorite book so far is one with instructions for creams, potions, teas, and body scrubs, each with varying purposes.

The following Thursday, after he’s sent his last class on their way back up to the castle, Harry crosses to Greenhouse One and collects a basket full of ingredients to make a variety of things from the book - strawberries, raspberry leaves, mint, nettle, and oils from his personal potions collection - then sets up a workstation on the desk in their chambers. The room smells fruity and fragrant by the time Louis returns from his classes, and Harry straightens out of his slouch, hand cramped up from mashing the strawberries, to see Louis framed in the doorway, eyes wide and hair inexplicably singed at the ends.

“Lou?” he asks, stretching his fingers and twisting his wrists to work out the kinks from holding a pestle for so long.

“You’ve been busy,” Louis points out, stepping into the room. He cranes his neck to try and see what Harry’s got laid out on the desk as he undresses. The cuffs of his robes are burnt, as well. “What have you got there, love?”

“Soothing pregnancy tea,” Harry says, one hand resting on a jar of dried mint, nettle, and raspberry leaves. He points to a squat metal pot, next. “This one is belly butter, and this is going to be a strawberry body scrub.”

“Strawberry? Can you eat it?”

Harry looks down at the mortar, nearly overflowing with crushed strawberries and sugar, and shrugs. “Probably. It’s supposed to reduce swelling, for when my ankles and feet get all swollen and achey. It smells like candy.”

Oh, candy. Harry twists suddenly in his chair, eyes roving the room in search of the Honeydukes bag he knows is lying around somewhere. Sunday, his and Louis’ mums had come to Hogsmeade to take him shopping for pregnancy clothes, and his mum had bought him a bag overflowing with sweets from Honeydukes, just in case. He’s been craving anything and everything mint the past few days, and is suddenly quite desperate for a Pepper Imp.

“It’s over here, babe,” Louis says, and he lifts a bag off the bedside table, carries it over to Harry.

Harry beams up at Louis and purses his lips, asking for a kiss. Humming, pleased, Louis sets the bag down on the desk, then bends over Harry, tipping his head back with a thumb under his jaw, and presses a soft, sweet kiss to his mouth. Pepper Imps forgotten, Harry winds his arms around Louis’ neck and parts his lips, begging silently for more. It’s not the most comfortable of angles, but Louis tastes like the Caramel Cobwebs he’s been sneaking from Harry’s stash and his shoulders are strong and smooth underneath Harry’s hands, his skin warm from the fire heating the room.

“Babe,” Louis whispers into Harry’s mouth. “You smell like chocolate and strawberries.”

Harry just hums in response and tries to keep kissing Louis, but he pulls back a few centimeters and turns his head to look at the desk. “What have you used the chocolate for? You’re not going to bathe in it, are you?”

“No chocolate,” Harry sighs, unable to keep the hint of a pout from his voice. “Cocoa butter. That’s for my belly.”

“Right, the belly butter,” Louis says, and he sounds so excited, Harry is confused.

Brow furrowed, he lets go of Louis so he can poke around at the carefully labeled jars on the table. “Yes?”

“When d’you start using it?”

“Well, now, I suppose.” He glances down at himself. He’s wearing an old jumper of Louis’, and he can just see the subtle rounding of his belly where it’s straining at the fabric of the jumper. He’s grown noticeably just over the past two weeks and, to his delight, is already in his pregnancy jeans with the soft, stretchy band that hugs his tummy.

“I want to help,” Louis says, so loudly that Harry startles a little.

Eyes wide, he says slowly, “Well, alright. After dinner and a shower, though. Don’t want to waste it.”

Louis is visibly jittery throughout dinner, and Harry cannot figure out _why_. He’s been touching Harry’s stomach every opportunity he can get, so he’s not sure why this should be any different. It’s cute, though, and Harry finds himself watching Louis more than his food, has to check himself a few times when Liam shoots him amused glances from across Louis. When he asks Harry, “See something you like, Styles?” just before dessert, Harry sticks his tongue out at him and forces himself to keep his eyes on his plate for the rest of the meal.

Once dinner is over and they’ve retreated back to their chambers, Harry closes the door firmly behind them and, before Louis can do anything, says, “I’m going to shower now. You calm down, you look like you’re about to have a fit.”

Before Harry can escape to the bathroom, though, Louis has nabbed him around the waist and has one palm pressed to the slight curve of Harry’s belly. “We’re having _babies_ , Harry.”

“I know,” Harry laughs, cupping Louis’ face in both of his hands. He kisses the tip of his nose, then rests their foreheads together. “I’m really happy you’re this excited.”

“Sometimes I feel like I can hardly breathe,” Louis confesses.

They stand there for a minute in silence, Louis’ hand warm through the fabric of Harry’s robe, and breathe each other in. Then, Harry slides his hands down to grasp Louis’ shoulders and whispers, “Come wash my hair for me.”

They crowd into the small shower together as steam fills the room, the air heavy and humid around them. Hands tucked behind his back, Harry leans against the shower wall while Louis stands under the spray, watching the play of muscles underneath his skin, the way the water turns him sleek and golden.

“So, what’s with the burnt hair?”

Louis’ exaggerated sigh tells Harry it was student-driven. Sure enough -

“I brought a boggart in for my third years, and little Davey Meagle panicked and cast the wrong spell. Caught the suitcase I was storing the boggart in on fire, nearly caught _me_ on fire.”

“Oh no,” Harry giggles, covering his mouth with one damp hand. “Poor Davey.”

“Poor Davey?” Louis squawks, indignant. “Poor _me_! I think I’ll need Cara to give me a trim tomorrow,” he says forlornly, combing his sopping hair into his eyes in an attempt to see the damage without a mirror.

“Aw, babe, you can barely see it,” Harry promises, pushing off the wall so he can wrap himself around Louis. “Here, I’ll wash it for you. I bet once it’s clean and conditioned, you won’t be able to tell at all.”

Louis grumbles indistinctly, but he lets Harry turn him around and work his hair into a lather, lets Harry knead and tug and scrub until he’s satisfied, then lets him tip his head back and rinse it all out, as well. “There,” he says once his hair is clean, smooth and silky between his fingers. “It’ll be good as new.”

“Thanks,” Louis hums. “Turn around, then, I’ll do you.”

“I think you’ve already done me, love,” Harry grins, patting his stomach.

Louis’ groan echoes around the small room and he slaps a hand over his own face, laughs helplessly and mumbles, “You are _awful_ , don’t talk to me.”

“Oh, please,” Harry giggles, turning around and tipping his head back a bit. “You love my jokes.”

“ _You_ love your jokes,” Louis corrects, but there’s amusement in his voice when he adds, “I just love _you_.”

“Hey, thanks man,” Harry grins, eyes fluttering shut at the first touch of Louis’ hands to his hair.

He loves this, loves the way Louis’ gentle fingers comb through the damp locks, making sure it’s all wet before he starts to shampoo it. The tiny shower fills with the scent of tart green apples once Louis does squeeze out the shampoo, and Harry has to bite off a moan as Louis works it in, massaging at his scalp and dragging it through his curls so he can be sure he’s cleaned every strand. Having his hair played with is one of Harry’s very favorite things, and having Louis wash it for him is a bonus, as he gets to be a bit rougher than he normally would be.

Once Louis has rinsed the shampoo from his hair, he works conditioner into the ends and eases all of the tangles out. Harry feels like he could fall asleep just like this - standing in the shower under the warm spray, with Louis’ hands tugging gently at his hair. Before he knows it, though, Louis’ body is pressing all along his back and his slick hands are sliding around to cover his stomach, palm fitted to the gentle curve of it.

“Did you want to start using your strawberry scrub, love?”

“Hmm?” Harry asks drowsily, head lolling back onto Louis’ shoulder. The heat of Louis’ palms and the softness of his skin where he’s touching his stomach feels divine, like he’s been wrapped up in warm silk.

“Let’s finish washing up and get you into bed,” Louis murmurs, stepping back so he can grab the normal body wash.

They finish up their shower in relative silence, scrubbing down and rinsing off, then slip out and bundle up in their towels. Harry is feeling much too sleepy and lazy for a drying charm, but Louis pushes him gently into the seat at the vanity and braids his wet hair for him so it won’t be a complete disaster by morning.

“Alright, come on, love,” Louis clucks, helping Harry out of the seat.

Naked and warm, Harry slips into bed and sprawls out on his back, basking in the heat coming off the fireplace. He’s completely forgotten about the belly butter until Louis plucks a jar off the desk and waves it at Harry, asks, “Is this the one?”

“Yeah, that’s the cream.” Harry props himself up on a pillow and tugs the blankets up over his lap while he waits for Louis to join him on the bed. He feels... oddly breathless, a bit nervous, even though there’s no reason for him to be.

Smiling wide, Louis clambers up onto the bed and sits across Harry’s thighs, pinning him to the mattress. He studies the jar for a moment, traces a fingertip over Harry’s looping handwriting before unscrewing the top and scooping a bit out onto his palm.

“It smells so good,” Louis groans, and Harry laughs.

“Please don’t eat my belly butter.”

Hunching over so his nose is nearly brushing Harry’s skin, Louis whispers, “I would never eat something meant for our babies.” His nose scrunches as he sits back up, and he says, “Or for you, I suppose this isn’t really for them, is it.”

“No,” Harry laughs, feeling warm all over. “Not unless they can absorb it through my skin.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” Louis says. He rubs his dry hand across the expanse of Harry’s stomach, a smile spreading across his face.

Resting his hands on Louis’ thighs, Harry asks, “Why are you so excited to put lotion on me?”

“I dunno,” Louis muses, staring down at his hands. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? Makes it all feel so _real_. Plus, you’re doing all the hard work, cooking them, this makes me feel... useful.”

Harry watches as, brow furrowed, Louis concentrates on spreading the cream between his palms, heating it up a bit. The moment he sees Louis’ hands start toward his stomach, he sucks in a breath and holds it, heart thundering in his chest, inexplicably nervous and excited.

The butter is silky smooth against Harry’s skin as Louis smooths it over his tummy, and the strokes of Louis’ palms and fingertips over his skin sets butterflies fluttering in his belly. It feels so _nice_ , Louis’ hands gentle and attentive as he spreads the cream in tight little circles, from the top of his belly to the very bottom and out to his sides. It’s overwhelming, actually, his skin oversensitive and his emotions frazzled and on edge from the intensity behind this simple ritual, and it has heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. Harry’s not sure he can take this every night, if it’s going to leave him breathless and tingling like this each time.

“Lou,” Harry whispers, fidgeting against the blankets. He bites down on his bottom lip and waits for Louis to stop. He’s pretty sure Louis has already covered every square centimeter of his belly several times over.

“Dirty boy,” Louis laughs, sliding his hands back down toward Harry’s hips. His palms catch on the edge of the blanket where it’s pulled over Harry’s lap and drag it down a centimeter, then another. “I thought you were sleepy?”

He’s grinning, the arsehole, fingertips trailing maddeningly over his smooth, fragrant skin, and each time he moves, he drags the blankets down another fraction of a centimeter.

“Don’t fucking tease,” Harry grits, fisting his hands in the sheets. “I’m pregnant and horny, it’s rude.”

“Ah,” Louis giggles, climbing off Harry’s thighs so he can spread them. He finally, finally peels the blankets down to Harry’s knees, then settles on his stomach between his splayed legs, one hand braced on the top of his thigh. He grips Harry’s hardening cock with his other hand, and the slide of skin on skin is so smooth from the cocoa butter that it pulls a cry from Harry, back arching against the bed as Louis teases his thumb against his slit. ”Since you asked so nicely.”

Rolling his head back and forth against the pillow, Harry fists his hands in the sheets and bites his lip against a moan when Louis sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, warm and wet and mind-numbingly perfect. He’d been wrong to think he couldn’t take it. They’re _definitely_ doing this every night.

;;

Harry’s belly grows just a bit every day, and it’s both fascinating and terrifying. Fascinating because he’s absolutely, _wildly_ obsessed with what’s happening to and inside of his body, and terrifying because every time he catches Headmaster Higgins’ eye, or is stopped by him in the hall for a small chat, he is absolutely certain that he’s going to notice and say something.

Every day before heading down to breakfast, Harry watches his bump, noticeable in muggle clothing now as more than just bloating or a bit of weight gain, disappear into the billow and folds of his wizard robes. It makes him a bit sad. He’s quite proud of his little bump and would love nothing more than to show it off. Just a few more weeks, he tells himself each morning, patting his stomach in reassurance. A few more weeks, then they’ll tell Higgins, everything will be out in the open, and he’ll be able to freely hold Louis’ hand and flaunt his belly to his heart’s content.

“Alright, someone tell me the medicinal properties of nettles,” Harry prompts, gazing around at his first years.

They had learned about stinging nettles in the beginning of the year, but he’s been trying to revisit and reinforce some of the more important herbs and plants all year so they’ll be prepared for their end of year exams. They’ve been harvesting and drying nettles for the potions store closet today, anyway, and he’s wrapping the class up with a review. One of his Hufflepuffs, a particularly tiny little boy with a mop of unruly hair that is always in his face, raises a hand.

“Yes, Thomas?”

“Stinging nettles are useful in tonics, to increase kidney function, to give you energy, and to ease pain,” he recites, eyes wide and voice trembling just a bit.

“It’s _also_ given to pregnant people because it’s got loads of vitamins,” a Ravenclaw girl cuts in, her tone bossy and knowing. “My da drank nettle tea every day in all of his pregnancies.”

“Very good!” Harry praises. “Five points to Hufflepuff and five points to Ravenclaw, though next time please raise your hand or you won’t get the points, Ruby. Alright everyone, time to clean up. You know where everything goes, and don’t forget to use your wands for the heavy things, you’ve been working on your _Locomotor_ charms all year.”

Harry stands back and watches his students putter around, tidying up their work stations, floating enormous bags of soil back to the proper spot, scouring trowels and dragonhide gloves and wooden tubs. He has to interrupt a soil bag fight between two more mischievous Hufflepuff girls, but for the most part, they clean up neatly and efficiently, and Harry can just lean back against the trough holding the Leaping Toadstools, hand resting absently on his stomach, and watch them quietly.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands on your way out! You’ve got lunch next, you don’t want to be eating any fertilizer with your quiche.”

“Extra flavoring,” a cheeky Ravenclaw quips on his way past. “It’s protein!”

Harry makes a gagging noise, just to make them laugh, and they leave the greenhouse giggling into their freshly washed hands.

Harry follows them up to the castle at a slower pace, taking the time to enjoy the way the grounds look. They had had a freeze the previous night, and the weak winter sun hasn’t quite gotten strong enough yet to melt the frost coating the grass. The giant squid has broken through the thin layer covering the lake, though, and great pieces of sheet-thin ice float across the placid surface, propelled by the gentle ripples made by the lazy waving of one of the squid’s tentacles in the shallows.

Hogwarts in the winter is so beautiful, Harry thinks with a sigh, pausing at the foot of the stairs leading up to the front doors so he can look out across to the Forbidden Forest on the right, the winged boars guarding the gates directly across the lake, and the Quidditch pitch on the left. Their grand home away from home.

;;

Advantages to being fourteen weeks pregnant and officially in the second trimester, Harry thinks: no more evening sickness, a lot more energy, increased sex drive (to Louis’ delight), very exciting pregnancy jeans and jumpers. Disadvantages: bizarre, random cravings at four in the morning, incredibly strange dreams, can’t feel the babies kicking yet, voracious appetite.

Louis watches, amused, as Harry spoons his third helping of boeuf bourguignon onto his plate and follows it with a generous dollop of mashed potatoes. “Don’t laugh at me,” Harry hisses. He scoops some of the potatoes onto his fork and caps it off with a piece of beef. Voice pitched low, he mutters, “I’m eating for _three_ , I deserve this.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Louis laughs. “Liam, back me up, here.”

“What? Oh, sorry, Tommo, I have to side with Harry on this one,” Liam says vaguely, not even asking what they’re talking about.

Harry leans across Louis for a high five from Liam, then sticks his tongue out at Louis in a brilliant display of maturity. He’s already the coolest dad ever.

“Boys,” Iona clucks, gently chiding, from Harry’s left. “Do try not to act like you belong at the table with the students, will you?”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry giggles. He has to smother a laugh behind his hand when Iona flips him the bird under the table. He can see old Professor Mothman shooting them dirty looks from the other end of the table, but he just shoots the Potions professor a cheery smile and goes back to his meal.

They’ve just made it out of the Great Hall and to the foot of the marble staircase after dinner when a voice calls across the entry hall, “Professor Tomlinson, a moment, please?”

Harry and Louis both turn as one to see who’s stopped them and find Headmaster Higgins framed in the doorway to the Great Hall, his face in shadow as the lights of a thousand floating candles flicker behind him. Harry watches, nerves coiling in his belly, as Higgins waits patiently for Louis to cross back over to him.

“You go on, babe,” Louis whispers, mouth barely moving so Higgins won’t be able to tell what he’s saying. “I’ll be up in a mo.”

Nodding tersely, Harry climbs the stairs and trudges slowly up to Ravenclaw Tower and their chambers. He supposes it’s probably nothing bad or threatening, if Higgins has just asked to talk to Louis alone. He wonders what it’s about, though, how long Louis will be, if he should still be nervous. Alone in their room and too jittery to try and go to sleep, Harry decides to take a bath to calm his nerves.

He doesn’t use the tub in their chambers as often as he would like, as it’s a massive production to fill it and he never has as much time as he’d like to spend in it. He thinks he deserves it this time, though. Anyway, tomorrow is Friday, so if he loses an hour of sleep tonight soaking in bubbles, he can always make it up over the weekend.

While he waits for Louis to return, Harry lights a few fragrant candles and sets them around the ledge of the tub, then fills it with towering, lavender tinted bubbles that immediately put him at ease with their gentle, floral scent. And, feeling particularly indulgent, Harry rummages through his collection of bath additives and selects one of the mystery bath bombs his mum had sent him a couple of weeks ago. Gemma has been experimenting with making magical bath bombs on her free time, and this one is small and a very pale shade of yellow. When Harry drops it into the water, it lets off its own shower of bubbles that shimmer and reflect tiny rainbows in the flickering candlelight.

The water is warm and silky as Harry slips in, then settles against the side of the tub, head tipped back against the ledge. He could fall asleep like this quite easily, if it wasn’t so dangerous. As it is, he can feel himself drifting, so he sings to try and keep himself awake, a mixture of wizarding songs he’s grown up with and the muggle music Louis is so fond of playing for him when they’re at his mum’s house.

He’s partway through belting out a Celestina Warbeck ballad when the bathroom door creaks open and Louis pokes his head in, expression amused, and asks, “Hazza? Care if I join you? In the bath, not the concert.”

Harry pries his eyelids open and turns his head lazily to regard Louis. “That depends. Will you sit behind me and cuddle me?”

“Wouldn’t dream otherwise,” Louis responds immediately, so Harry nods and struggles to sit up, feet slipping against the slick tiles at the bottom of the tub.

He watches Louis undress with heavy-lidded eyes, too drowsy to do more than admire the way Louis glows in the candlelight, skin golden and smooth and inviting. He doesn’t even wait for Louis to get settled once he slides into the tub, he just shoves Louis’ legs apart and scoots back against him immediately, back to Louis’ chest, and pulls Louis’ arms around him.

It’s so easy to relax like this, Louis warm and sturdy behind him, arms banded loosely around his torso, chest rising and falling rhythmically against his back. Harry tips his head back onto Louis’ shoulder and asks, voice resonating in the quiet bathroom, “What did Higgins want?”

Louis trails his fingertips up and down Harry’s arms, sending chills down his spine.  “He asked if I could referee the Quidditch match on Saturday. Apparently Professor Striker is ill and won’t be able to make it.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Harry exclaims, grip on Louis’ wrists tightening in excitement, but then he pauses and makes a face, mouth pulled down at the corners. “I mean, not that Striker is ill, but that Higgins asked you.” He twists his head around and presses a sloppy kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth, whispers, “You’re going to be brilliant.”

Louis laughs, arms tightening around Harry, and says wryly, “This is awful, but I’ve been secretly hoping Striker would retire since I started to work here.”

“Well, now’s your chance to show them how brilliant a coach you would be,” Harry says with a nod. “

“Thanks, darling,” Louis hums, brushing a kiss along the curve of Harry’s jaw. “Means an early morning, Saturday, though.”

Heaving a sigh, Harry wiggles back against Louis and shrugs. “I think I can handle it this once. I mean, there are only what, six Quidditch matches in a year?” Louis hums in affirmation. “Still plenty of Saturdays to sleep in, then. Worth it.”

They fall silent after that, comfortable and sleepy. Louis’ hands slip down to settle over Harry’s belly and Harry kicks his feet up against the opposite side of the tub, laces his fingers through Louis’, and lets the weightlessness and heat of the water lull him into a light doze. He knows Louis would never let him drown.

By the time Louis shakes Harry gently awake, the water has gone tepid around them and the bubbles have mostly gone. Louis makes sure Harry is sitting upright before he climbs out of the tub and fetches them some towels.

“Come on, love,” he murmurs, helping Harry out of the bath and bundling him into one of them.

Shivering, Harry clutches the towel around him and watches hazily as Louis dries himself off briskly. He can barely muster up the energy to keep the towel wrapped around himself, he’s just going to have to go to sleep with wet hair again. Once he’s done drying himself off, Louis helps Harry scrub himself dry, then drops the towels by the tub to be dealt with later.

“Get the candles, will you, babe? I’ll go make sure the fire is still burning in the room.”

Harry nods and turns to start blowing the candles out, but Louis stops him before he can bend over the closest one with a hand on his wrist.

“Hazza, you’re covered in glitter.”

“What?” Harry straightens back up and tries to blink the sleep from his eyes so he can see what Louis is pointing to. Sure enough, his skin is coated in a sheen of iridescent glitter that shifts from pink to yellow to green to blue as he twists his arm in the light of the candles. “Where did that come from?”

“What did you put in the bath water?” Louis asks, shuffling closer to the edge of the tub so he can inspect his own skin.

Sure enough -

“Bollocks,” Louis curses. “I can’t go to class like this, not when we’re both covered in the stuff.”

Harry can’t help the giggle that slips out as he strokes a finger down the length of Louis’ arm, gathering the glitter on his fingertip. “It’s so pretty, though.”

The look Louis gives him is both fond and exasperated. Harry preens a bit when Louis lifts a hand and cards his fingers through his hair, tousling his curls so glitter falls out of them like tiny, rainbow-colored raindrops. “It is very beautiful. You look like a faerie.”

“I’m keeping it,” Harry decides. “It must have come from the bath bomb mum sent me. Should have known better when all it did when I dropped it in was foam. Here, I’ll help you get it off.”

Harry tries siphoning and scrubbing spells and wiping Louis down with a towel, but in the end, the most effective way of removing the sparkles is for Louis to hop into the shower and rinse them off with bodywash. Harry is all dry and shedding glitter at an alarming rate by the time they get into bed, but it just looks so pretty, drifting to the floor like shimmering dust motes.

“I feel like a rainbow,” Harry sighs, sinking into the mattress.

“You are a rainbow,” Louis murmurs, pulling him in against his side and laying a gentle hand on Harry’s stomach. His bump is still covered in the sparkles, glimmering prettily in the flickering firelight.

“You probably shouldn’t cuddle me tonight,” Harry warns, voice breaking mid-sentence around a yawn. He can already feel sleep creeping back over him, weighing his limbs down and tugging at his eyelids. “Glitter everywhere.”

“I’ll take the risk,” Louis whispers, and Harry falls asleep curled into Louis’ side, one leg thrown across Louis’ thighs and their hands tangled over the gentle slope of his tummy.

;;

Morning dawns far too early for Harry’s liking. It’s Friday, though, which means he has his self-sufficient seventh years, and both of his groups of third years are in the middle of a two week project that they’ve got a good handle on. He drags his feet at getting ready, mustering up just enough energy to snicker quietly when Louis has to take another shower to wash off the sheen of glitter he’d acquired over night from cuddling him.

Once Louis has emerged from the shower, Harry begs a damp, sleepy kiss off him, then slips down to breakfast while Louis is still dressing, collapses dramatically into his seat and immediately grabs for the bacon.

Harry is concentrating on cutting his French toast into small, even squares when Louis arrives and takes his seat between him and Liam. He aims a quick, secretive smile at Louis, then focuses back in on his breakfast. Apparently, midnight baths and glitter shedding work up quite the appetite.

Harry is just cutting up a second slice of toast when he hears Liam say to Louis, “Mate, I think you have a bit of - oh, is that _glitter_?” His voice is strangled with amusement when he says, “Been doing art projects with Styles, have you, Tommo?”

Brow furrowed, Harry opens his mouth to defend himself - against what, he’s not sure, but Liam’s tone has him on the defensive anyway - but then he catches sight of his arms in the sun streaming in through the windows, and, oh. Right. Glitter _is_ sort of his thing, isn’t it.

“Been making you a Christmas present,” Louis says mildly, reaching across Harry for the marmalade.

“Christmas was two months ago, bro.”

“Now that’s no way to look at it, Liam,” Harry chides, sitting up straight so he can lean around Louis and catch Liam’s eye. “Christmas is _ten months from now_. Maybe Louis here is just thinking ahead.”

The look Liam gives them, brow furrowed, eyes flicking back and forth between Harry and Louis, nearly sends Harry into a fit of laughter. Poor Liam, he’s never been prepared for the absolute nonsense Harry and Louis spew when they team up against him. Shaking his head slowly, Liam looks pointedly from the small smattering of glitter along the underside of Louis’ jaw and the sheen still coating Harry’s hands, face, and hair. “Whatever, I’m not even going to ask what the two of you get up to behind closed doors. You guys are so weird.”

Harry’s stomach swoops and his fingertips go a bit tingly, but he keeps his expression straight and sticks his tongue out at Liam, giggling a little when Louis says, “That’s a bit bloody offensive, to be honest, Liam.”

Sputtering, Liam stammers, “That’s not - you know I didn’t mean -” he flaps his hands toward Harry and tries to explain, “I just meant - _glitter_.”

“Oh, Merlin, _relax_ , Liam,” Louis sighs, reaching out to cuff Liam on the shoulder. “I was just messing with you.”

“You’re such an arsehole,” Liam grumbles, but he’s smiling as he accepts Harry’s offer of a fist bump. “But seriously,” he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper, “you two...”

“Eat your porridge, Liam,” Louis says loudly, eyes cutting to Harry, who’s trying very, very hard to keep his expression neutral. Liam knows, or at least suspects.

Suddenly not hungry anymore, Harry sets his fork down and folds his hands in his lap, heels of his palms digging into the firm lower curve of his belly through his robes. It’s properly rounded, now, and looks very much like a pregnant tummy. The touch grounds him, a bit, keeps him from losing himself in worry. Liam wouldn’t say anything. If he even knows, he reasons with himself. Maybe he just sees their chemistry and hopes they’ll get together. Yes, that could be it.

Harry starts a bit when he feels something touch his leg, looks down to see Louis pressing the backs of his knuckles and the pad of his thumb to Harry’s thigh. His chest unknits slowly and his panic fades. Even if Liam does know, it will all be okay. As long as he has Louis on his side, everything is going to be fine.

;;

As expected, Louis is _brilliant_ at coaching and refereeing Quidditch.

Harry wakes up at the crack of dawn on Saturday and reluctantly drags on a set of wizard robes. He would rather just go in muggle clothing and the gorgeous pea coat he bought at the beginning of winter that still, miraculously, closes over his tummy, but even with the coat buttoned, it’s fairly obvious that he’s pregnant, and his colleagues and students are too perceptive for comfort. So Harry dresses while Louis shovels down a quick breakfast, then eats his own breakfast at a leisurely pace while he waits for a more reasonable time to follow Louis.

By the time Harry arrives at the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, the stands are teeming with students and teachers alike. Harry climbs to their usual spot beside the announcer’s booth and drops onto a bench next to Liam with a tired little huff. Climbing all of those stairs is getting tougher as his belly grows, and his back and feet ache.

“Harry!” Liam exclaims, throwing an arm across his shoulders. “You just missed Louis, he looked brilliant.”

Bemused, Harry peers down at the pitch and asks, “But the match hasn’t started yet?”

“No, but he was setting up and sorting things out while the teams warmed up. Had a bit of a chat with the two captains, looked nice and official. Much better than old Striker already.”

Harry’s chest swells with pride and he watches the spot they should all emerge from avidly, not once looking away. He doesn’t want to miss Louis’ grand entrance.

And grand it is - Louis strides out ahead of the two teams, looking lovely in stormy gray robes, with his broom in one hand and the golden snitch in the other, a shiny silver whistle laying flat against his chest. He lines the teams up facing each other, then has a quick, quiet chat with the two captains before the teams both mount their brooms.

The excitement in the stadium climbs palpably as Louis raises the hand holding the snitch, then releases it. One thousand pairs of eyes watch the tiny golden ball hover a foot over Louis head, then zip off to parts unknown. A moment later, Louis mounts his own broom, blows his whistle, and they’re all off.

The match is a whirlwind. Before Louis has even made a complete lap of the pitch, Gryffindor scores three times. Breath held, Harry watches Louis as he weaves in and out of the players, keeping a sharp eye out and calling the occasional foul. He looks wonderful, Harry thinks, gray robes billowing behind him, body perched low on the broom to make himself more aerodynamic. Sports have always suited Louis, and he looks in his element like this, smile wide and elated each time he passes Harry’s seat close enough for Harry to catch a proper glimpse of his face.

Barely twenty minutes into the match, Slytherin finally starts to make a comeback. Gryffindor’s keeper fumbles a block, then, flustered, misses another shot immediately after. The Slytherin chaser is just rounding the pitch for another attempt at a goal when half of the stadium gasps dramatically and, a moment later, Louis’ whistle blows. The Slytherin seeker has caught the snitch, a mere meter from the ground, where no one was looking.

Disappointment wars with excitement in Harry’s chest. It had been a good match, and the Slytherins are pouring onto the field to congratulate their team, roaring and cheering, and Harry is _thrilled_ for them. But at the same time, the match hadn’t even lasted a half hour, and he doesn’t get to watch Louis fly anymore. Trying not to pout, he watches Louis fly toward the ground and dismount gracefully. He has another chat with the team captains, then starts to collect the balls and the beater clubs. Harry wants very much to go down to the pitch and congratulate him on a match well-refereed, but he restrains himself, instead follows Liam down the stairs and out toward the lake.

“Well that was short and sweet, wasn’t it?” Liam asks, scrubbing a hand over his shorn hair. He squints across the lake to where the groundskeeper is toddling about, carrying what looks like enormous crates of chickens. “Louis was quite good.”

“He was brilliant,” Harry breathes, forgetting to reign in the pride and affection in his voice. His cheeks color once he realizes, but Liam just shoots him an amused glance, then claps him on the shoulder.

“Well, better get home, eh? It’s still bloody freezing out. Cook the man a celebratory lunch or something, yeah?” he says with a wink.

Harry bites his lip, not quite sure how to respond.

After a minute of confused, tense silence, Liam laughs, “Oh, go on, then. I’ll see you Monday.” And then he turns and walks off.

 

By the time Louis makes it back to the house, Harry has forgotten completely about Liam’s knowing suggestion. He does make Louis lunch, though, and greets him at the door with a hug and a whispered, “Welcome home, Coach Tomlinson.”

“Hey, gorgeous,” Louis murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to Harry’s lips. “Did you see my disappointing debut?”

“ _Disappointing_ ,” Harry scoffs, gripping the back of Louis’ neck as he starts to walk them toward the kitchen. “More like brilliant. It’s not your fault it was a quick match, you were perfect.”

Louis snorts, but he tilts his head and says, “Higgins did ask me to referee the next match, actually. Turns out Striker has come down with a rare, late case of Mumblemumps.”

“Oh, dear,” Harry frowns. “Poor man.”

“Yeah, he’s been put on bed rest at St. Mungo’s for the time being.” He scrunches his nose in indication of what he thinks of bed rest.

“Well, at least in the meantime, they have the best possible referee. Who knows, maybe Striker will take the opportunity and finally retire.”

Louis presses his lips together and furrows his brow, looking conflicted before saying, tentative and soft, “Is it horrible of me to hope he does?”

Harry bursts into laughter and presses a wide, open-mouthed kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Probably, but I’m hoping so, too, so we can be horrible together.”

Louis’ expression settles into an easy grin as he winds his arms around Harry’s waist and draws him in close, as close as he can with Harry’s round little belly between them. “I knew I picked a good spouse.”

“The _best_ spouse,” Harry corrects, struggling to get even closer.

“No one better,” Louis agrees.

;;

Despite the fact that his breaths still come out in puffs of white mist every time he steps outside, Harry is _sweltering_. He’s flat-out in the center of his and Louis’ bed, naked but for a pair of tiny pants with the curtains thrown wide, windows cracked to let in the frosty Hogsmeade breeze, and Salem perched on his chest. The cat is putting off an enormous amount of body heat, but Harry only gets to see and cuddle him two days out of the week, so he feels too guilty to push him off.

“Hazza - bloody hell, it’s _freezing_ in here,” Louis hisses, chafing his arms as he walks into the room. He’s dressed in a set of thick burgundy robes and still has a beanie tugged down over his ears. The tip of his nose is red.

Harry turns his head to the side so he can watch Louis cross the room, but when he comes to one of the windows and reaches for it, Harry growls, “ _Don’t_.”

“Harry, you’re going to catch a cold like this, and you can’t take anything while you’re pregnant,” Louis reasons, one hand poised on the window latch.

“But Louis,” Harry whines, too miserable to try and sound like a mature adult who’s currently growing two new humans inside of him, “the babies won’t stop moving and I’m _hot_.”

The babies have been kicking and moving around for nearly a week, now. Normally Harry would be ecstatic to feel that movement, the fluttering and popping that means his little babies are active, that they’re _real_ , but right now he’s hot and sticky and frustrated, and his hormones are all out of control.

Louis nods, then shuts the window and crosses to close another. “Okay, I’ll make you a chilled flannel. I know just the charm, we can wrap it ‘round your neck. That’s what mum did when she was pregnant.”

Harry just grumbles and rolls onto his stomach, patting Salem’s head in consolation for displacing him. It’s not very comfortable to lay on his tummy anymore, but he loves sleeping on his stomach and soon he’ll be too big to be able to at all. Within minutes of Louis shutting the windows, he’s already begun to overheat, but before he can really start sweating, he hears Louis enter the room again. Harry squints one eye open to see what he’s doing, watches silently as he holds a damp, rolled up flannel in one hand and his wand in the other and mutters a complicated little charm under his breath.

“Alright, I think that should do it,” he says with a nod.

Louis crosses the room to the bed and drapes the cloth across the back of Harry’s neck. It’s cold, but it feels lovely, chilling Harry right down to his core. He sighs in relief and sinks into the mattress, moans, “Thank you, babe. That’s perfect.”

Finally able to relax, Harry closes his eyes and listens as Louis putters around. The rustle of cloth and the sound of the closet door opening and shutting tells Harry he’s changed out of his robes, and a moment later he hears running water in the bathroom while Louis washes up. Everything goes quiet for a few minutes after the water shuts off, and, cool and content, Harry nearly dozes off. Before he can fall asleep, though, the bed dips and he pries his eyes open to find Louis seated beside him, a steaming cuppa grasped in both of his hands.

“Hi, Lou,” Harry whispers with a sleepy smile. He slides a hand across the bed so he can wrap it loosely around Louis’ bare ankle, happy just to be touching him. He strokes a thumb across his soft, warm skin, asks, “How was practice?”

Louis shrugs and takes a sip of tea. “Alright. One of the Gryffindor beaters is ill, so they’ve got a reserve beater in, and they’re having a tough time adjusting. They’ll be fine, though, they’re a solid team.”

“That’s good. You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

A beaming smile spreads across Louis’ face and his eyelashes flutter as he breathes, “Yeah, yeah I am. It’s brilliant.”

“I’m really glad,” Harry whispers. He groans a little as he rolls onto his side and curls around Louis’ crossed legs, his arm draped across Louis’ lap. Barely four months along and he’s already big enough that lying on his stomach hurts his back. “You were meant to do this, I think. I bet the kids love having you as a coach.”

Louis’ cheeks flush and he shrugs off the compliment, but he twists around to set his mug down so he can drag his tea-warmed fingers through Harry’s hair and down his side. “Thanks, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“Really good.”

He really does, he feels _great_. His belly is bigger at seventeen weeks than Gemma’s had been at twenty, but he does have two tiny babies nestled in there, so he figures it’s to be expected. He has occasional backaches - also to be expected - and the previous night, he’d woken at four in the morning absolutely desperate for blueberry pancakes, but he feels leagues better than he had in his first trimester, and he’s thrilled and fascinated by the changes he notices every day.

“You know,” Harry hums, drawing his arm back so he can roll over a bit and fit his palm to the surface of his belly, “this is getting harder and harder to hide.”

In lieu of a proper response, Louis straightens out of his slouch and shuffles down the bed, stretched out on his side so that his face is level with Harry’s tummy. He cups both hands around Harry’s stomach and draws close enough that the tip of his nose brushes Harry’s skin. “Hello, babies,” Louis whispers. He lets out a sharp, delighted laugh when he receives a series of gentle kicks in response, then says, “It’s lovely to see you, too. You know,” he says conversationally, stroking a hand down the rounded curve of Harry’s belly, “you’re getting quite big in there.”

“They’re each the size of an avocado,” Harry whispers around his heart lodged in his throat.

“Avocados,” Louis hums, fingers tap-tapping just above Harry’s navel, where one of the babies had just been kicking.

“Last week they were chocolate frogs,” Harry says with a frown. “Made me feel a bit guilty when I ate one out of the bag mum sent me, I had to throw it out.”

Louis laughs, then presses both hands to Harry’s stomach, covering as much area as he can so he can feel for movement. “Do I need to toss all of the avocados we just bought?”

“No!” Harry gasps, offended.

Louis’ brow is furrowed when he tips his head back to meet Harry’s eye and ask, “But you just said...?”

“I think it’s ‘cause the frogs kept _moving_ ,” Harry says slowly, trying to work out why he’d reacted so badly to the frogs. His mind keeps drifting to the thought of avocados, though, and he can’t stop thinking about getting up so he can have some avocado on toast. “Felt like they were alive or something when they tried to hop away, it was too much.”

He shudders, remembering how horrible he’d felt after biting into one of the frogs last week. He probably won’t be eating any chocolate frogs for a while. He’s drawn back to the present when he feels Louis press a kiss to the center of his belly, hears him murmur, “Well, my little avocados, I reckon we’re going to have to tell everyone about you soon. That’ll be exciting. Terrifying, I’ll probably be pissing meself, but exciting, as well.”

Harry’s stomach twists at the thought of owning up to Higgins, of what he might say or do. He supposes he could always go back to working at St. Mungo’s if Higgins sacks them, but Hogwarts is the only wizarding school in England, and he’s not sure Louis would want to go back to working for the Ministry. Oh well, he sighs. Not much they can do about it, there are still three months left to the school year and the books say his babies are going to double in size within the next few weeks. They’ve run out of time.

Harry watches the top of Louis head as he continues to talk to Harry’s tummy. It takes him a minute to realize that, even though he’s still watching Harry’s stomach, Louis has started talking to him, rather than the babies. Shaking his head, Harry asks, “Sorry, what was that?”

Tipping his head back again, Louis says, “Next Saturday is a Hogsmeade weekend. The castle should be half empty, why don’t we see if we can meet with Higgins then?”

Nerves flutter wildly in Harry’s stomach, his chest, his throat, but after the briefest of hesitations, he nods. “Yes, alright,” he whispers, voice thick with anxiety. It’s really happening, and they only have a week to prepare what they’re going to say.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, scooting up so he can draw Harry in and wrap him up in his arms.

Harry burrows against his chest, fingers clutching at the soft fabric of Louis’ shirt. He can feel Louis’ chin tuck down over the top of his head, the grounding weight of Louis’ leg draped over his own, the steady, sturdy beating of Louis’ heart under his palm, and he can feel his own pulse begin to slow, his breaths start to come a bit easier.

“Hey,” Louis repeats, so gentle Harry’s eyes well up with grateful tears. He strokes a hand down Harry’s back and continues, “It’s going to be alright. No matter what happens, we’ll be fine.”

Harry blows out an unsteady breath and forces his fingers to relax, to release Louis’ stretched and mutilated shirt. He gives one quick, short nod to let Louis know he’s heard him, that his words, his reassurances got through.

He can do this. They can do this. He can do anything, as long as he has Louis beside him.

;;

Monday dawns gloomy and gray, the sky heavy with clouds and the promise of torrential rain. Harry wakes feeling like he’s been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs. His back aches and his ankles are swollen and he’s only been awake for a few minutes, but he’s already ready to duck back under the blankets and go back to sleep.

Leaving Louis still asleep in bed, Harry drags himself out of it and shuffles wearily to the bathroom to wash up, both fists pressed to the small of his aching back. The only relief he gets is when he bends over to brush his teeth, and he lets out a soft groan of appreciation when the ache eases, wonders vaguely if he can get ready for the day and teach all of his classes while bent over like this. He stays as long as he can, washes his face and drags tired fingers through his hair with his elbows resting on the edge of the sink, then grits his teeth and straightens up so he can go find something to wear.

It takes Harry twenty minutes to settle on a pair of jeans, a stretchy jumper, and a billowing set of plain black robes. He feels bloated and uncomfortable, and once he’s dressed, he stands in front of the mirror trying to find different standing positions that make him look less pregnant, getting increasingly more frustrated with each minute that passes.

“Babe?” Louis calls from the bathroom doorway, voice thick with sleep and confusion. Harry looks away from the mirror to find Louis, sleep-rumpled and warm looking, leaning against the doorjamb, his brow furrowed in concern. “Everything okay?”

To his horror, Harry bursts into tears.

Louis crosses the small room immediately and pulls Harry into his arms, whispering soft words of comfort as he drags his fingers through Harry’s hair and rubs his back. Harry buries his face in the crook of Louis’ neck and whispers, “I’m sorry, I think I’m just - off today, I -”

“Hey,” Louis interrupts, pulling back so he can cup Harry’s face in his palms and swipe at the tear-tracks on his cheeks. “Stop apologizing, you have nothing to be sorry for. Do you want me to send Higgins a message and tell him you’re ill today? You can stay in bed, I’ll come see you between classes.”

Gratitude wells up in Harry’s throat, bringing on a fresh wave of tears. He lets out a watery laugh and sniffs, “No, that’s alright, thank you. I’ll be fine, I just feel a little rotten today. Bloated.” He turns to glance at their reflections in the mirror, frowns at the way his robes, the loosest set he has, fold over his bump. Trying hard not to cry again, Harry whispers, “Everyone’s going to be able to tell.”

“They’re not,” Louis reassures him. “No one is going to think that, I promise. They may just think you’ve gone a bit too heavy on the treacle tart, but they’re not going to think you’re pregnant.”

Harry laughs, his grip on Louis’ shirt loosening as he starts to calm down a little. He takes a slow, deep breath, then steps back, lets his hands fall to his sides and turns to look in the mirror again. It’s glaringly obvious to him that there’s a sizeable belly hidden beneath the folds of his robes, but Louis is right. No one is expecting it, so it won’t be the conclusion anyone jumps to. No one even knows he’s in a relationship. Except maybe Liam.

Harry’s frown stretches into a tired, weak smile when Louis steps up behind him and hooks his chin over his shoulder, then pulls his robes taut and cups his hands over Harry’s tummy. It’s rounding out quite nicely now, and Niall had had a fit over it when they’d gone to visit him on Sunday, had demanded that Harry and Louis start calling him Uncle Niall, even though there are still five months to go.

“The babies can already hear you,” he had insisted, “get them used to it now. Maybe Uncle Niall will be their first words.”

Harry had snorted at the idea and Louis had growled, “Over my dead body,” and Niall had laughed and laughed as he poured Harry a pint of alcohol-free apple cider and built a Guinness for Louis. It had felt so nice to be able to go out in just jeans and a jumper, his belly apparent to anyone who was looking. He can’t wait to stop hiding it here.

“Five more days,” Louis murmurs, as if he can tell exactly what Harry is thinking. He rubs his hands over Harry’s tummy, his touch warm and soothing through the layers of Harry’s clothes.

His back still aches something fierce, and worry that someone will find him out before they’ve had a chance to tell Higgins still sits like a knot in his chest, but Harry repeats ‘five days’ like a mantra in his head. Five days. Five days five days, five days and they’ll be free.

“Five days,” he repeats, leaning back against Louis for support. “Five days.”

;;

To Harry’s intense displeasure, he draws patrol duty Tuesday evening with Mothman. He’s feeling better than he had on Monday, at least, and the castle is warm and cozy, the windows battened down against the storm that’s been raging for two days now and fires burning in every fireplace in the entire building. He doubts they’ll catch any students out of bed, but he and Mothman split up after supper and Harry takes the west end of the castle.

Heaving a sigh, Harry lets himself truly relax for the first time all day. The rain beating against the windows is soothing and he feels pleasantly heavy, full of good food and delicious pumpkin juice and the knowledge that in an hour or so, he’ll be curled up in bed with Louis. Away from prying eyes, Harry settles a hand on his tummy and rubs absent circles against the curve of it, an instinct he’s had to curb since he found out he was pregnant. It’s been especially difficult since he’s started being able to feel the babies move, unable to react when one of them lands a particularly enthusiastic kick or they start to squirm and shift like tiny, overactive butterflies in his tummy.

They’re quiet right now, probably sleeping, just like Harry wishes he could do. Soon enough. He’s only got an hour left of patrol, and then he can slip into bed with his husband and be properly cuddled like this sort of weather demands.

The rest of Harry’s patrol passes quickly and painlessly. A few of the paintings whisper at him as he passes, but he just waves a hand at them and continues on, climbing up to the owlry, then back down toward the entry hall. Mothman is already there when Harry arrives, fingers plucking nervously at the front of his robes to try and drape them back over his bump.

“All clear?” Mothman asks in his wheezy voice, and Harry nods.

“Yep, not a student out of bed.”

“Great. Goodnight, then, Stubbins.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry doesn’t bother correcting him, just watches Mothman disappear down the stairs to the dungeons, then slips into the classroom with the moving staircase so he doesn’t have to climb any more stairs. It only takes a few minutes to get to the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, and he shuts the door to Louis’ office with a relieved sigh, starts stripping out of his robes even as he crosses the office to their chambers. He opens the door quietly, in case Louis is already asleep, but finds Louis seated in the center of the bed, several rolls of parchment stretched across his lap and a quill in hand.

“Babe, it’s nearly midnight, are you still grading?” Harry asks, brow furrowed.

Louis’ eyes are bleary and unfocused when he looks up, and it takes him a moment to register that Harry is standing in front of him, already topless and rolling the stretchy waistband of his jeans down over his hips. He just wants to put some cocoa butter on his belly, then he can collapse into bed.

“Hiya, Hazza, how was patrol?” Louis asks, voice a little hoarse from disuse. He doesn’t seem to have heard Harry’s question.

“Fine,” Harry shrugs as he walks over to the desk to grab the new pot of belly butter he’d made last week. “Mothman still refuses to learn my name.”

“Twat,” Louis mutters, warming Harry’s heart.

He’s about to unscrew the cap when Louis clucks his tongue and beckons him over so he can nip the container out of his hands. Smiling helplessly, Harry waits for Louis to tell him how he wants him. This is Louis’ favorite part of the evening, applying the belly butter for him. More often than not, it leads to Louis’ cock in his mouth, which is _Harry’s_ favorite thing, but he’s too sleepy tonight, can tell by the droop of Louis’ eyelids that he is, as well.

“Here,” Louis mutters, setting the pot down so he can grasp Harry’s hips and drag him right up against the edge of the bed. His tummy is level with Louis’ face, and before he picks the cocoa butter back up again, Louis splays his hands on Harry’s bare stomach and murmurs, “Hi, babies, I missed you today,” then presses a kiss to the top of it.

Harry’s heart melts and he bites his lip, watches as Louis waits for a response from them. “I think they’re sleeping, Lou. They haven’t moved in a couple hours.”

“Oh,” Louis pouts, and Harry can’t resist, he has to tip Louis’ chin up for a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers against Louis’ lips.

Harry lets out a strangled laugh when Louis slides his arms around Harry’s waist and hauls him in so he can pepper kisses all over his belly, saying, “I love you, too” over and over in between kisses. Finally, he sets Harry back a step and blows out a breath. “Okay, let’s get you lubed up so we can get some sleep. I bloody hate Wednesdays.”

Harry rolls his eyes at Louis’ choice of words, but he clasps his hands together behind his back, presenting his stomach to Louis. “Alright, I’m ready for the belly lube.”

Louis nose wrinkles at that and he glances up at Harry while he rubs the cocoa butter between his palms, warming it up. “Ew, don’t say it like that, that sounds disgusting.”

Harry makes a noise of indignation, but bites back a retort when Louis starts to smooth the belly butter into his skin. It feels so lovely every time, Louis’ hands warm and gentle and clever, tracing patterns into his skin and working the cream in thoroughly so he won’t get extra cream all over the sheets when he lays down. Harry’s skin begins to tingle, blood humming pleasantly in his veins, as Louis strokes his palms over his skin, digs his fingertips into his sides, traces broad circles around his belly button until he’s certain he’s covered every possible spot.

Once he’s done, Louis cups the sides of Harry’s tummy and brushes a barely-there kiss to the center of it, whispers, “There we go.”

Smiling softly, Harry cards his fingers through Louis’ hair, soft and feathered across his forehead from hours of dragging his hands through it in frustration. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Do you think you’re about done grading for tonight?”

“Yeah,” Louis wheezes through a timely yawn. “I’m knackered.”

He scoots back so Harry can climb onto the bed and flop down in his spot. Not quite ready to get under the blankets, Harry stretches his legs out and bends then at the knee, lines the bottoms of his feet up in one of the stretch poses he’s seen in a few of the books Jay sent him. When he leans forward, some of the pressure at the base of his spine eases and his thighs burn pleasantly, tense muscles stretching out after a long day of holding up a bunch of added baby weight.

“Oh, hey,” Louis says casually, though his body language is anything but as he rolls the essays up and magicks them across the room. “Higgins caught me after dinner again.”

“Oh?” Harry asks, not quite sure what it could have been about this time. Maybe Striker is feeling better and he doesn’t need Louis to fill in for him anymore.

Louis bites his lip and brushes at his fringe, a reflex Harry knows means he’s nervous. “Yeah, he, er. Well, he’s decided to... encourage Striker to retire, and wants to offer me Striker’s position.”

Harry’s eyes widen in shock and he gasps, “Louis, that’s wonderful! This is exactly what you were hoping for, I’m so happy for you.”

To his confusion, though, Louis just lets out a nervous little laugh and says, “Well, there’s more.” He pauses and makes a face, nose scrunched up like he’s trying to find the right words. “Well, Striker was head of Gryffindor House, you know. And _I_ was in Gryffindor.”

Harry blinks, asks, “Is he offering you Head of House, then?”

“Yes?”

Still baffled, Harry says, “But Louis, that’s incredible, it’s such an honor -”

“It would mean having to live in the castle full time,” Louis sighs.

There’s a weighted pause, and then Harry whispers, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Louis mumbles with a grimace.

Unsure of what to say, Harry watches Louis carefully, trying to gauge his emotions. All he can read off Louis’ current expression is concern, though, which just confuses Harry even more.

“Well,” Harry says slowly, “I mean a lot of the students have cats, so I don’t think moving Luna and Salem up to the castle would be too much of a problem. We would have to put in a door to my chambers to set up a nursery, but that should be easy enough, no?”

Louis’ eyebrows wing up and he stares at Harry in surprise for a minute before whispering, “You would do that for me? You’d give up our house in Hogsmeade and life away from the castle?”

Even more confused than ever, Harry says, slow and bemused, “Of course I would? Head of House is an incredible opportunity, and Hogwarts is as good a home as any -”

Harry’s breath is knocked right out of him when Louis crashes into him, tackling him down to the mattress and rolling them immediately onto their sides so he doesn’t crush the babies. He drags Harry in with a hand at the back of his neck and kisses him breathless, then eases back so he can press their foreheads together, pants, “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person?”

Harry laughs and traces a finger down the center of Louis’ back, equally as breathless and a bit dazzled by the kiss. “Maybe once or twice, but it doesn’t hurt to hear it again.”

“I love you more than anyone,” Louis says, his tone so insistent and sincere that it makes Harry’s throat go tight. “I’m going to make sure we have the absolute best life together in this castle.”

Rolling his eyes but unable to help the soppy smile that’s spread across his face, so wide it’s making his cheeks hurt, Harry whispers, “Lou, it doesn’t matter where we live. I already have the best life with you.”

;;

Louis gets back from a hallway patrol later that week to Harry sat in the center of the bed, hunched over three massive sheets of parchment with a quill in hand and a pot of ink hovering just above the blankets.

“Hazza?” Louis asks, bemused.

His brow is furrowed when Harry looks up from the parchment spread out in front of him. Taking the opportunity, Harry straightens up with a groan, stretching cricks out of his neck and spine. “Hey, Lou,” he sighs, “how was patrol?”

Harry falls back onto his hands and arches his back, stretching some more. He only just realizes that he’s still wearing his jeans, unbuttoned from when he’d been about to take them off earlier before getting distracted. His belly pushes against the vee of the open zipper and he feels oddly proud and a little fluttery at the way his stomach is growing and rounding out.

“Fine,” Louis answers vaguely, eyes on Harry’s torso. “Found a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff down the Charms corridor, their heads of houses are dealing with them now.”

“Oh?” Harry asks, amused. “What were they doing?”

“Hmm?” Louis responds, but he’s already checked out of the conversation, eyes still on Harry as he advances slowly. Louis peels his robes off as he goes, dropping them to the floor, then crawls onto the bed and right over to Harry.

Harry squeaks when Louis shoves the parchment aside carelessly, protests, “Louis, no, wait!” He can’t get the rest of his sentence out through the laughter, though, as Louis growls and wraps his arms around him, dragging Harry onto his lap. “Louis, those are important -”

“Were you grading?” Louis asks, hands splayed in the small of Harry’s back. His palms are warm, his fingertips pleasantly rough as he drags them up and down Harry’s spine.

He shivers and whispers, “No, but it’s -”

But before he can finish telling Louis what he’d been working on, Louis slips his hand past the loosened waistband of his jeans and Harry’s brain whites out. The papers can wait.

 

Breathless and sheened in sweat, Harry rolls onto his back with a groan. He feels fantastic - loose and sated, thighs pleasantly sore, toes still tingling from his orgasm - and if the way Louis is panting is any indicator, he feels just as good as Harry does. Flailing a hand out, Harry smacks Louis’ chest with the back of his hand and demands, “Cuddle me.”

Louis lets out a wheezing laugh and grasps Harry’s hand in his, flattening Harry’s palm against his racing heart. “Just give me a mo’, love, I’m having a little trouble breathing.”

“Getting old, there, Lou?” Harry clucks, turning his head so he can see Louis’ face. “Out of shape, maybe?”

“Old!” Louis squawks, indignant. “I’ll show you old.” He rolls over so he’s half on top of Harry and slides Harry’s hand down his stomach to wrap around his cock, still half hard, then growls, “Give me two minutes. I’ll show you old.”

Giggling, Harry turns onto his side so he can throw a leg over Louis’ hip. He pushes Louis’ sweaty fringe off of his face and tips his head back for a kiss, hums happily when Louis leans in immediately and nips at his bottom lip.

“Sorry I distracted you from your grading,” Louis whispers, pressing soft, chaste kisses to Harry’s lips.

“Wasn’t grading,” Harry hums. “They we’re floor plans. And this is always a welcome distraction.”

He sinks into a longer, deeper kiss, fingers threading through the damp hair at the nape of Louis’ neck. He’s getting a bit sleepy now, and as much as he loves kissing Louis - could do it for hours, days, even - he’d very much like to roll over and have Louis curl around him and cuddle him to sleep.

Instead of letting him go, though, Louis slides his hand down to cup Harry’s hip, thumb rubbing against the side of his tummy, and asks, “Floor plans? Are you building a new greenhouse?”

Harry considers brushing off the question for now and bringing it up tomorrow, but it’s already Thursday, they’re meeting with Higgins in two days, and Louis has an emergency Quidditch practice to oversee tomorrow night. Sighing, he rolls away from Louis and struggles into a sitting position.

“Not quite.” He twists around so he can grab his wand off the bedside table, then summons the scrolls of parchment from the floor. Tugging the blankets up around his waist, Harry smooths the first roll of parchment across his lap and explains, “I know we’ve still got like five months and term doesn’t end for another two months, but it will make me feel better to know we’ve figured everything out, and since we’re moving into the castle...”

Louis mutters a spell to brighten the torches lighting the room, then scoots closer and hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder so he can look down at the parchment in Harry’s lap. It’s a hastily drawn floor plan of their house that Harry had done earlier, not quite to scale, but accurate enough. Harry pushes the house floor plan off his lap, then spreads the second scroll out, shows Louis a very rough idea of their offices and chambers and all of the neighboring cupboards and classrooms on their hall.

“The simple solution is to put a doorway in here,” Harry murmurs, indicating the wall separating their chambers from the room off Harry’s office. “But we need to think about space for our next baby -” he stops and glances down at his stomach, at the smooth curve of his belly and the way the blankets are bunched around the bottom of it, and adds with a little, wondrous laugh, “or babies, I suppose. With your genes, you never know.”

He glances back at Louis when he doesn’t get a response, finds Louis peering down at the sketch, brow furrowed in thought. He nudges Harry forward a bit when he reaches for the floor plan of their house, then spreads it out alongside the drawing of the castle so he can compare them.

“We have three spare rooms,” Harry points out needlessly, tapping each of them in turn with his finger. He shifts back to the drawing of the castle and points to two of the rooms along the corridor, a couple of doors down from their offices. “And two of these classrooms are being used.”

“Mum always wondered why we bought a house that big,” Louis muses. He breaks into a smile, then, and slides his hand around to cup Harry’s stomach. “And I didn’t even tell her that we chose a house with a big garden so we could add more rooms later.”

Biting his lip, Harry stares down at the drawing of their house. He would never admit to Louis that he would rather stay in Hogsmeade than move into the castle full time, but it tugs at his heart every time he thinks about it.

They’re silent for a few minutes, Louis’ hand warm on Harry’s belly, as they both stare down at Harry’s drawings. Finally, sighing, Louis says, “Here, let me have the floor plans, I’ll look at them during my break tomorrow. Let’s get you to sleep for now, babe.”

Harry stacks the pieces of parchment and rolls them up for Louis, secures them with a ribbon from his bedside table. Louis is already laying down, arms spread in wait, when Harry finishes extinguishing the torches and sets his wand down. Smiling sleepily, Harry settles down on his side and scoots back against Louis, heart twisting happily in his chest when Louis rests his palm against his stomach and presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Hey,” Louis whispers, breath ghosting along the top of Harry’s shoulder. He hums and waits for Louis to continue. “We’ll figure everything out, yeah? I’ll make sure it’s all perfect and just how you want it.”

Harry turns his face into the pillow, hiding a smile, and laces his fingers through Louis’ where his hand is resting on his belly. As much as he’d like to stay in Hogsmeade, he trusts Louis to take care of this and find the perfect solution. Two days, he thinks, everything going hazy around him as he begins to drift off. Two days and they’ll have everything. Two days and they’ll be free.

;;

Harry barely sleeps Friday night. He lays in bed for hours, rubbing a hand over his belly and checking the clock obsessively, his mind racing too fast to let him relax. He’s restless - nervous and anxious and excited all at once, all of those emotions underlaid by sadness that their days in this house are numbered.

Not wanting to wake Louis, Harry slips out of bed and shuffles out into the kitchen to make himself some of the raspberry-mint-nettle tea and sit on the sofa with a mindless muggle television show, steaming cuppa cradled in both hands and Luna asleep on his feet. The house is quiet and dark around him, the only sounds that of the occasional cricket in the back garden and the faint sounds of the show on the telly.

Harry’s not sure how long he sits there - long enough for the dregs of his tea to go cold and the television show to change twice, he thinks - before Louis’ sleepy voice startles him out of his daze.

“Babe?”

Blinking the fog out of his eyes, Harry sets his mug on the table, then twists to look at Louis over the back of the sofa. He offers Louis a weak smile and a sheepish wiggle of his fingers.

“What’s wrong,” Louis asks, concern knitting his brow. “Are the babies keeping you up?”

“Oh.” Harry looks down at his belly, round and pale against the dark fabric of his unbelted robe. Shaking his head, he pats his tummy, answers, “No, they’re sleeping. I’m just too nervous to settle. Can’t turn my brain off.”

Louis hums in understanding and crosses the room so he can join Harry on the sofa, arms open in invitation. Harry scoots against him immediately, sinking against Louis’ side and going easily when he shuffles them around so he’s sitting between Louis’ legs, back to his chest. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s torso and buries his face against the side of Harry’s neck, stubble dragging shivers out of him as it scrapes along his sensitive skin.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Louis asks, voice muffled against Harry’s shoulder, “Babe, why are you watching an infomercial for a hoover?”

“Mmm?” Harry asks, not quite sure what Louis is asking. Even though he’s been unable to fall asleep, he’s so _sleepy_ , and just having Louis there with him, fingertips stroking up and down his arms and lips pressed firm against his neck, has already helped calm him more than anything. His voice is thick and slow when he asks, “What’s a hover?”

“No,” Louis laughs, tightening his grip on Harry and pressing a kiss to his temple. “A hoover. It’s like a machine muggles use to clean their floors and carpets. It runs on electricity.”

“Oh. I don’t know, is this not a television show?” Confused, Harry turns his head so he can see the telly. There on the screen is a man with a curious looking object in his hand. It’s making an awful racket as he runs it up and down the carpet in his living room and speaks to the cameras. Muggles enjoy the strangest shows. Just last week, he’d come across one where a bunch of naked people had been traipsing around the jungle for reasons unknown. He’s stopped trying to understand.

“Not quite,” Louis murmurs.

Harry barely registers it when Louis pulls his wand out of the pocket of his robe and changes the show to something with an over-the-top laugh track. He’s too comfortable to protest or make a request, just snuggles back into Louis’ embrace, turning halfway onto his side so he can bury his face in Louis’ shirt and breathe him in. He hums in appreciation when Louis drags his fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and tugging just enough to make Harry go boneless against him.

“That’s it, darling,” Louis murmurs, lips pressed to Harry’s forehead. “I’ve got you.”

 

The living room is flooded with light and there are birds chirping cheerily from the trees in the back garden when Harry stirs awake. He’s still on the sofa, laid out on his side with Louis spooned up behind him, and Salem is draped across both of their necks. It’s stiflingly warm like this. Salem puts off an extraordinary amount of body heat and Louis has him wedged between his body and the back of the sofa, and Harry feels like he’s melting. He’s just... not quite sure how to get out of this position without waking Louis. Normally he would dislodge Salem, then climb over the back of the sofa, but being four months pregnant has messed with his center of gravity and his balance, so he’d rather not risk it just now.

Harry lays there for a minute, contemplating the best way to go about this, then shrugs and decides, since there’s no way to get up without waking Louis, he may as well go with the option that will bring him the most amusement. Very gently, Harry lifts Salem off of them and sets him on the back of the sofa. Then, breath held and teeth sunk into his bottom lip, Harry braces his elbow against Louis’ chest and _shoves_ as hard as he can in this position, knocking an unsuspecting, sleeping Louis to the living room floor.

Louis comes awake with a strangled yell, arms flailing about as he lands on the rug with a _thud_ , and Harry releases his breath on a burst of laughter. He rolls over so he can peer down at Louis from over the edge of the sofa, hand cupped over his mouth to try and stifle some of his hysterical giggles as Louis blinks up at the ceiling in confusion.

His laughter turns to wheezing gasps when Louis finally turns his head and meets his eyes, confusion melting into a look of understanding. His eyes narrow and there’s a promise of revenge in his voice when he says, silky smooth and dangerous, “Good morning, Hazza. What a funny position we find ourselves in. I wonder what could have happened?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry giggles, eyes wide in what he hopes comes off as innocent confusion. “You must have tried to roll over or something.”

“Or something,” Louis says agreeably, expression mild, but Harry can see the way he’s bracing his feet and palms against the floor, and before Louis can blink or say another word, he scrambles off the sofa and makes a mad dash for their bedroom, laughter trailing behind him like bright, sparkling ribbons.

“It was the only way!” he shouts as he crosses the threshold of their bedroom and whirls around to shut the door and lock Louis out.

He doesn’t get a chance, though, Louis is already there, he’s so bloody _fast_ , and he blocks the door with his shoulder and scoops Harry right up off his feet, growling menacingly.

“Louis!” Harry gasps, laughing so hard he can’t breathe. He clutches at Louis’ shoulders as he spins him around in dizzying circles, says breathlessly, “It’s not fair, I can’t run as fast with this bloody belly. It was too hot! I was melting right into the sofa cushions, you would have woken up to a puddle instead of a husband -”

“Too hot, was it?” Louis asks, and Harry doesn’t like the tone of his voice one bit.

His grip on Louis’ shoulders turns to nails digging into his skin, and he kicks out as Louis turns and starts toward the bathroom, gasps, “Louis, no! I’m fine now, I promise, I don’t need -”

“Oh, I think you do,” Louis tuts, his grip on Harry’s thighs tightening when he starts to squirm. Somehow, Louis manages to kick the door shut and wrestle his wand out of his pocket, and before Harry knows it, he’s being dumped carefully and triumphantly into a tub of freezing cold water.

“ _Louis_!” Harry shrieks, scrabbling for the edge of the tub. “It’s bloody freezing, Merlin’s beard, and I’m still _dressed_. I’m going to kill you and raise these babies on my own, I swear it!”

Louis just leans back against the bathroom counter, arms crossed over his chest and expression smug, as Harry pulls himself out of the tub. Sodden and shivering, his robe hanging off his elbows and his pants plastered to his skin, Harry stands on the bath mat and just stares balefully at Louis.

“I’m going to get you back for this,” he promises, teeth chattering pathetically.

He watches, cold and amused, as Louis struggles visibly against his need to take care of Harry. Finally, after one massive, body-wracking shiver, Louis gives in and points his wand at Harry, mutters, “ _Callesco_.”

Warmth floods Harry instantaneously, and he relaxes with a sigh of, “ _Thank_ you.” Nose wrinkled in distaste, Harry peels off his dripping robe and struggles out of his wet pants, then drops them into the sink. Completely naked, hair dripping water down his back and over his shoulders, Harry cocks a hip and says, “Well, since I’m already wet, are you going to shower with me? I’ve forgiven you, and I’d quite like to suck you off in there.”

He thumbs over his shoulder and tilts his head to the side, waiting for Louis’ reaction. He doesn’t have to wait long.

Louis nearly trips and knocks himself out on the edge of the counter in his haste to strip off, and plunges right into the bathtub before remembering that he’d filled it with cold water. Harry laughs so hard his sides hurt as Louis curses and flails around, trying to find the drain and the knob for the hot water.

“That’s _twice_ this morning, and I’ve not even been awake for an hour yet,” Louis mutters petulantly, huddling under the hot spray while the cold water drains around his feet.

“Hey,” Harry protests, climbing carefully into the shower alongside him. “I had nothing to do with that one, that was all you.”

“Whatever, Styles,” Louis mumbles. “It’s still your fault.”

Amused, warmth and affection curling like sun-warmed vines in his chest, Harry watches as Louis slicks his hair off his forehead, then tilts his head to the side and peers at Harry from across the tub. With a resigned sigh, Louis shakes his head and beckons Harry forward. “Come here, you menace. I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“Thanks, Lou. Better that you do it now, because afterwards I’m going to suck your brain out through your cock. You won’t be able to think or move after,” he promises, grinning when he hears Louis fumble and drop the bottle of shampoo behind him.

They only have a few short hours before they’re supposed to meet with Headmaster Higgins, but it helps that Harry keeps distracting himself, and there are few things in this world better and more calming than the feeling of Louis’ hands in his hair. Humming to himself, Harry folds his arms on top of his tummy and tips his head back for Louis, ready for anything that will help stave off the dread that keeps threatening to build in the pit of his stomach. Just two more hours of peace, he promises himself. Two more hours of Louis-shaped distractions, then he can panic as much as he needs to.

 

Harry is panicking.

It’s a gorgeous day, mild and sunny and breezy, and, despite the fact that it’s a Hogsmeade weekend, the castle grounds are teeming with students lazing about in the grass, working on homework underneath the beech trees, splashing about along on the shallow banks of the lake, tossing balls and frisbees and strangely shaped objects that look like soft pincushions back and forth.

Harry strolls across the lawn alongside Louis, shoulders hunched and trying not to draw too much attention. He doesn’t want any of the students to stop one of them to ask a question or have a chat. Louis is due in Higgins’ office in six minutes and they’re going to be late. It’s all Louis’ fault, too. Harry had been ready to go a half hour ago, but Louis had insisted that he needed his lucky Vans and had spent twenty minutes looking for them before realizing they were up at the castle.

“You’re not going up to our room to get your Vans,” Harry warns Louis under his breath as they climb the stairs to the great oak doors, just in case Louis had been planning to try and grab them before the meeting.

Louis’ mouth flattens into a frown and his hand twitches like he’s about to protest, but he catches sight of the watch on Harry’s wrist as he waves it in front of Louis’ face and his expression smooths out into one of resignation. Someone calls out to Louis as they cross the entry hall, a fourth year Gryffindor who Harry recognizes as one of the chasers on the Quidditch team, but Louis shakes his head and says, “Sorry, Thornby, I’m on my way to a meeting. If this is about your left hook, you’re overthinking it. You just need to relax and let the broom lead you. We can work on it tomorrow at practice, just enjoy your Saturday off.” He starts up the marble staircase, then turns around so he can call, “Or better yet, go find Raventhorn. Her left hook is perfect, she can help you practice. You’ll be nailing those hooks in no time.”

Harry watches Louis silently as they stroll down the second floor corridor toward the gargoyle that guards the door to Higgins’ office. As they draw to a stop in front of the massive statue, Louis shoots Harry a sidelong look, the corner of his mouth quirked up into a half smile, and asks, “What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

Shaking his head, Harry doesn’t even attempt to school his expression into something less soppy and adoring. “You’re amazing.” Louis just snorts, but Harry shakes his head and insists, “No, you are. The students adore you and you remember everything about them. It makes them feel special. You make people feel special.”

“Stop it,” Louis mutters, but there’s a faint blush riding the apples of his cheeks and he darts a quick look up and down the corridor before stretching up for a quick, grateful kiss. “Alright,” Louis whispers, knocking their foreheads together. “Are you ready?”

Heart suddenly galloping in his chest, Harry takes a deep, unsteady breath and settles a hand on his stomach. He can’t tell if the flutters he’s feeling are nerves or if one of the babies is moving around. Either way, it’s only making him feel more anxious. Higgins doesn’t even know he’s joining Louis for this meeting, and they have no idea how this will go. Harry’s eyes slip shut and he takes another fortifying breath, then one more.

Finally, he opens his eyes and says in a trembling voice, “Wimbourne Wasps.”

A second passes, then the gargoyle springs to life, jumping aside to reveal a winding staircase that begins to move the moment Harry and Louis set foot on the first step, much like the one in the secret passageway up to Ravenclaw Tower.

The door to Higgins’ office is slightly ajar once they arrive, and as they step onto the landing, Harry hears a faint voice call, “Come in, Tommo!”

Trepidation builds in Harry’s chest, so much so that he can barely breathe as Louis pushes the heavy oak door open. Higgins is standing alongside his desk, petting a massive black cat that’s perched on the corner. His eyebrows wing up when he spots Harry and his hand pauses on the cat’s back for a fraction of a second before he says, “Oh, hello Harry. I wasn’t expecting both of you today.”

Harry tries to stutter out a response, but Louis just cuts him off with a hand on his forearm and says, oddly formal, “Good morning, Headmaster. How’s your weekend been?”

“Oh, come off it, Tommo, there’s no need to be stuffy, it’s just me. Sit down, sit down.”

He waves Harry and Louis toward the chairs facing his desk, then perches on the corner of the desk rather than in his own chair. It makes everything feel more casual, more conversational, but Harry still sits hesitantly on the very edge of the seat, hands clasped nervously in his lap. When he looks down, though, he realizes that sitting like this, with his hands curled into a ball between his thighs, makes his robes fold neatly over his belly and makes it quite obvious to anyone who’s looking that he has a perfectly round little tummy. Flushing, he tries to pluck at the front of his robes inconspicuously, but from Louis’ expression, he knows he wasn’t nearly as sneaky as he had hoped. Blushing furiously, Harry hunches over, hoping that the curve of his spine will hide his belly a little. It’s a good thing they’re doing this now, because there’s no way he’d have been able to get away with hiding it any longer.

“Well?” Higgins asks, looking away from Harry and politely not mentioning what’s just happened. Harry wants to cry. “Have you considered my offer, Louis?”

“Er - yes.”

Louis glances at Harry out of the corner of his eye, then takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment, as if he’s steeling himself. For what, Harry isn’t sure. It’s not as if he needs to brace himself to accept the position, he’s thrilled over the offer and saying yes should be such an easy thing.

But Harry’s confusion only mounts when Louis lets the breath out in one long, slow gust and says, “I’m really sorry, Higgins, but I have to reject the offer.” He glances at Harry again, eyes wide, then rushes to say, “Not for Gryffindor coach, of course, I’m never giving that up, but for Head of House.”

Higgins asks, “Why?” at the exact same moment that Harry, floored, gasps, “ _What_?”

Eyes darting back and forth between Harry and Higgins, Louis says, “Yes, well, I -”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Higgins interrupts, and Harry wrenches his attention off Louis and looks at the Headmaster. He doesn’t look angry, which is a bit of a relief, but he looks baffled. “I thought you wanted this position?”

“I do!” Louis assures him, but then he stops and his mouth twists into a conflicted smile. Harry twists his fingers together so hard he hears the joints crack when Louis blows out another breath and raises his eyes to the ceiling, mutters, “Oh, you’re going to sack me. I need to - _Harry_ and I need to tell you something.”

Oh, Merlin, it’s really happening. Harry buries his face in his hands, unable to look. His heart is pounding in his ears, so hard he can barely hear what Louis and Higgins are saying, and he feels a bit like he’s going to pass out. As if they can sense his distress, both babies are wiggling around, and when he drops his hands back into his lap, he can just see his belly moving underneath his robes as they both kick and stretch and beat against his stomach. It’s thrilling to see, and Harry wishes he could just sit and watch them move, but he has more important things to attend to at the moment. Regretfully, he tears his eyes off his stomach and turns his attention back to the conversation at hand.

Higgins looks completely nonplussed as Louis reaches out and settles a hand on Harry’s knee. Harry swallows thickly and meets Higgins eyes, grateful for the way Louis squeezes his knee, grounding him just a bit. No one says a word for a few loaded moments.

Finally, unable to take the silence any longer, Harry blurts out, “We didn’t go into this intending to lie.”

He bites his lip when Higgins’ eyes widen in surprise.

“Oh, bugger,” Louis mutters, then, a bit louder, “that’s not entirely true.” He winces and adds, “But we had good intentions?”

Feeling a bit bolder now, defensive, even though Higgins has done nothing but sit on his desk, expression mostly blank, and pet his cat that Harry is starting to suspect may just be a statue as it hasn’t moved a millimeter since they entered, Harry says, “To be fair, there’s nothing about this in the handbook, I checked. Three times. At least.”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Styles,” Higgins says calmly.

“Harry and I are married,” Louis says baldly, and everything around them falls completely, perfectly silent.

The silence carries on for so long that Harry flinches when the cat - not a statue, apparently - swings his head around so he can look at Harry and begins to purr.

“You and Harry are married,” Higgins parrots. It’s not a question, and his expression is still maddeningly blank. Harry feels like he’s about to keel over, and he has _no idea_ what Higgins is thinking, what he might say or do to them. Oh, Harry hopes he isn’t going to sack them. Finally, he says, “You know, when I asked both of you before hiring you if you were in relationships -”

“We’re really sorry,” Louis interrupts, a note of desperation in his voice now. “I heard from someone that I was more likely to be hired if I was single, and honestly I couldn’t remember a single professor from my time in school here who was married, so I figured, why not? And we weren’t married yet, but then when you took Harry on, he couldn’t very well say he was married, because you thought I was single, so it just...”

He trails off and Harry buries his face in his hands again. It sounds so _absurd_ when said aloud like that. Higgins is definitely going to sack them.

“I really wish you would have just told me the truth,” Higgins says quietly. He sounds disappointed, which is so much worse than angry. Harry can feel tears burning in his throat.

“We, erm.” Louis clears his throat and tightens his grip on Harry’s knee. “We accept any consequences you feel necessary, Headmaster. We understand.”

Higgins doesn’t answer for a long, drawn out moment. Finally, he says, “If you don’t mind me asking, what does you being married have to do with the Head of House position?”

“Oh.” Louis sounds surprised, like he hadn’t expected Higgins to ask.

Harry drops his hands back to his lap again and looks up at Louis. He’s curious to hear Louis’ answer, as well, as he’d been under the impression that Louis would be accepting the position right up until Louis turned it down. His heart trips in his chest when Louis turns to look at him, his expression soft and unbearably sweet.

“I think it would be difficult to raise a family in the castle, sir. I just want what’s best for my husband and my future children.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, the whole world narrowed down to just him and Louis, the tiny fluttering of their babies inside of him, the point of contact where Louis’ hand is on his knee. He forgets where they are for a minute and settles one hand on his belly, reaches out with the other to tangle his fingers with Louis’.

Harry jumps when Higgins swears loudly, remembering abruptly where they are and who they’re speaking with. He moves automatically to try and cover his belly up again, but it’s too late, his robes have stretched perfectly around the curve of his tummy, and Louis has already admitted it to Higgins anyway. Before he or Louis can say something, try to explain or calm Higgins down, he swears again and stands up with a groan.

“I can’t be _lieve_ this,” he hisses, moving around the edge of his desk so he can drop into his chair with another groan.

“Headmaster,” Harry starts, nerves humming in his veins again. They’re definitely getting sacked now. “We can explain -”

Suddenly, Higgins looks up from his desk and looks Harry dead in the eye, asks, “Liam knew, didn’t he?”

There’s a pauses as, suddenly very, very confused, Harry tries to make sense of what’s just been said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He was almost _dead on_ ,” Higgins says with a frown. He tugs a drawer open so he can root through it, all the while muttering, “No way he just guessed it on his own, he must have known. If you’ve rigged this in his favor, I _will_ sack you both, just watch me.”

“Rigged _what_?” Louis asks, unable to keep the frustration and confusion out of his voice. They’re both at a complete loss as to what’s just happened.

Higgins doesn’t answer for a moment, too busy digging through a drawer that only looks a few centimeters deep, but has Higgins buried nearly to his shoulders just to reach the bottom. “Aha!” he shouts, ripping a piece of parchment out of the drawer and waving it in the air. “Here it is.”

He spreads the small scroll out on his desk and hunches over it to try and read the untidy scrawl, written in glimmering red ink. He mutters unintelligibly as he reads, head moving from side to side as he scrolls across the page. Eyes wide, Harry looks to Louis, not quite sure of what to make of this situation. Louis looks just as bemused, but he turns his hand over in Harry’s and presses their palms together, fingers interlocked, and squeezes.

Finally, after a few minutes of frenzied mumbling and the rustling of the parchment as it tries to roll back up into a tiny scroll, Higgins sits back and says, “Unbelievable. I don’t know how he did it, but he’s won _both_ of them.”

“Sir...” Louis leans forward to try and see what Higgins has been reading. “I don’t understand.”

Sighing, Higgins pushes the parchment across his desk toward them. Harry picks it up gingerly with his free hand and sets it down on his lap, pinning the corners down so they can see what’s written in what looks to be Liam’s handwriting.

“Galloping gargoyles, half the staff is on here,” Louis says faintly, and Harry lets out a faint laugh. “When did you...”

With a trembling finger, Harry points to the corner of the parchment, where a date is written.

“A _year_ ago?”

Harry and Louis both look up at Higgins, shocked. Higgins looks upset, but for an entirely different reason than what Harry had been expecting. Rolling his eyes, Higgins sighs, “You two are not nearly as subtle as you seem to think you are. And Harry, anyone who’s known you for longer than a twist of a time-turner would be able to tell you’re up the spout, don’t know why you thought you’d be able to get away with it this long.”

“But...” Louis trails off, as if he’s not quite sure what to say. Harry knows the feeling.

Laughing now, Higgins props his elbows up on the desk and leans forward, continues, “And you’re both daft if you hadn’t thought the house elves wouldn’t tell me your chambers have been empty for years, Styles. Merlin’s beard, maybe I _should_ sack the two of you. Can’t have two Dorcuses teaching the next generation of witches and wizards, can we?”

Completely dumbfounded and not quite sure he’s understanding correctly, Harry asks, “Wait, so... you’re not angry?”

Higgins rolls his eyes again and says, “I’m _disappointed_ that you felt the need to lie, and for this long. But to be honest, I’ve known since you started here, Harry.” He points from Louis to Harry, then back and forth again. “Bit hard to miss it, you know. I had my bets on you telling me before the year started. Thought for sure I was going to win the pot.”

More slowly this time, Harry says, “So you’re not angry and you’re... not sacking us.”

“Styles, do you know how hard it would be to find two professors in the middle of term? And as much as it pains me to admit it right now, we’d be hard-pressed to find better Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts professors than the two of you, anyway.” His eyes drop to Harry’s stomach, visibly distending the front of his robes. “Though I suppose we’ll be needing a supply teacher in the spring, anyway. Dragon dung.”

It takes a moment for Higgins’ words to sink in, but once they do, relief floods Harry’s veins, so intense he feels lightheaded. He squeezes Louis’ hand so hard he’s sure he’s cutting off his circulation, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind. He looks - elated and just as shocked and relieved as Harry feels. He can’t believe their luck. He can’t believe Higgins has known for two years. He can’t believe half the staff took _bets_ on when they would admit they’re married and when they would start a family.

He’s trying to formulate a response, something adequate enough to convey just how grateful he is that Higgins isn’t angry, but before he can say anything, Higgins sighs, “Tommo, I don’t suppose you’d reconsider the position for Head of Gryffindor House? We can sort out some of the rooms in Gryffindor tower, move your offices and set you up with spare rooms for your kids.”

Harry looks to Louis for his response. It’s lovely that Higgins has offered, and it’s a wonderful opportunity, but he can’t help but hope that Louis says no. Louis’ expression is apologetic when he says, “Sorry, Headmaster. It’s an honor to be offered to spot, and if there was a way for me to take the position and still live in Hogsmeade, I would be on it quicker than a bowtruckle on doxy eggs, but I’m afraid I can’t give up our home in the village, even for Head of House.”

Harry blows out a long, unsteady breath. It’s still only morning, but it’s already been a wild dragon ride of a day and he feels like he’s just been trampled by a herd of stampeding bicorns. Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Harry collapses against the back of his chair and covers his face with his hands, lets out a weak laugh.

When he lowers his hands and settles them on his stomach, he finds Louis and Higgins both watching him, Louis fond and Higgins amused. His voice is embarrassingly thick when he says, “Headmaster, I -”

Higgins cuts him off with a wave of his hand and says, “Please. It’s been both a pleasure and a great source of amusement to watch the two of you orbit around each other for the past two years. Even if that toadstool Payne did cheat his way to the prize money,” he mutters.

“Oh,” Harry starts, choking on a watery laugh, but Louis shakes his head rapidly and winks, and Harry falls silent, teeth sunk into his bottom lip to try and hide his grin.

“Alright, you smug bastards, get out of here. I need to find myself a supply teacher and a Head of House. More trouble ‘n you’re worth, honestly, the lot of you.”

“Thank you, Headmaster Higgins,” Harry says honestly, earnestly, as he and Louis push to their feet and make their way toward the door. “Really.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Higgins mutters, but his smile is genuine as he waves them off and turns his attention to a stack of parchment wedged half underneath his enormous cat.

Harry hears him say, “Oh, get off those papers, you lazy kneazle, someone has to do some actual work around here,” as he pulls the door shut, and he dissolves into a fit of hysterical, elated giggles.

“Merlin’s beard,” Louis wheezes as the staircase carries them back toward the gargoyle statue on the second floor. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

Biting his lip, Harry asks, “Were we really that obvious?”

“I dunno,” Louis muses. “I mean, you do get this look on your face when you look at me...”

Harry glances at him as they step out into the corridor and lets out an indignant gasp at the dopey look on Louis’ face. “I do _not_!”

“Yeah, you sort of do, dearie,” a figure in the painting beside them wheezes, and Harry scowls at her.

He opens his mouth to argue in his defense, but Louis wraps a hand around his wrist and bobs his head, trying to meet Harry’s eye. “Hazza, forget the look. Do you know what this means?”

“What?” Harry asks, still trying to argue with the old woman in the painting. “What does it mean?”

“It means I can do this,” Louis says, raising an eyebrow pointedly as he takes Harry’s hand and laces their fingers together.

The hallway around them is deserted but for the paintings and the ugly, judgmental stare of the gargoyle outside Higgins’ office, but the act makes Harry’s heart race regardless, and he laughs, suddenly breathless.

“Lou,” he whispers, tugging Louis closer, so his belly is pressed right up against Louis’ stomach. “We don’t have to hide anymore. Is this real? Pinch me.”

He glances down the hall at the sound of distant laughter, then gasps as a sharp pain lances up his arm.

“Ow!” he exclaims, yanking his hand out of Louis’ grasp so he can rub his bicep. “I didn’t mean it _literally_ , you arse! I can’t believe you _pinched_ me -”

Harry’s tirade is cut off when Louis wraps a hand around the back of his neck and yanks him into a kiss, right there in the middle of the corridor outside the headmaster’s office. Harry freezes for a second, the urge to break away and put some distance between them automatic after two years of being careful not to so much as brush hands, but the feeling passes and Harry sinks into it, wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and parts his lips, wiggles as close as he can with his belly between them.

When Louis finally eases back and rests their foreheads together, fingertips trailing along the curve of Harry’s jaw while they catch their breath, Harry whispers, “I could get used to this.”

“You _will_ get used to it,” Louis promises. Then, after a pause, “I mean. I won’t be kissing you in front of the students, but I’m going to hold your hand, and Liam is going to regret ever having made that bet.”

Giggling, Harry steps back and takes Louis’ hand again. “Just so you know, I draw the line at Liam witnessing anything that involves your dick in my bum.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up and he asks, voice high, “ _That’s_ where you draw the line?”

Shrugging, Harry frowns and says, “Well, I don’t think I should have to stop myself from kissing you just because our friends are around. And you know me,” he says, patting his belly with his free hand. His smile is sly and just a bit wicked when he says, “I’ve got these wild pregnancy hormones, who knows when the mood will strike.”

“Harry,” Louis says weakly, voice pitched low in case there’s anyone nearby, “I’m not letting you suck my cock in front of Liam.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry sighs, “I’m not saying we should _intentionally_ scar Liam for life, I’m not an exhibitionist, Louis.”

“Oh, good,” Louis wheezes. “I’m still not really sure what you _are_ saying, but let’s hold off on this conversation for now.”

They pause at the end of the hall, just outside of a wide shaft of light streaming in through a window. They can hear a group of students chatting loudly just around the corner, right in the path to the marble staircase. Harry looks over at Louis and offers him a nervous smile.

“You ready, sweetheart?” Louis asks, squeezing Harry’s hand.

This wasn’t quite the way he had envisioned the students finding out they’re together, but it’s been a long time coming, and he’s just not got the energy or the will to put it off in favor of coming up with another, less shocking way of revealing their relationship. So, sucking in a breath, Harry nods once and whispers, “Yes. Definitely ready.”

“Alright, then. Here we go.”

Hands clasped between them, right there for everyone in the corridor to see, Harry and Louis step into the patch of sunlight and round the corner toward the marble staircase. Harry keeps his eyes trained on the stairs at the end of the hall, tries not to smile at the way the gaggle of sixths years goes completely silent as they pass them by. The whole school will be whispering about them within the hour, he’s sure, and the knowledge of that just brings him an incredible sense of relief, so sweet he feels lighter than air.

Biting down on his bottom lip, Harry shifts his grip on Louis’ hand, lacing their fingers together more comfortably. His heart is pounding out of his chest and the babies are kicking up a storm, as if they can tell he’s nervous and excited and want to join in on the fun, and Harry suddenly needs to pee quite badly.

“Lou,” Harry hisses as they start down the stairs. He can hear the group of students whispering furiously behind them, can imagine them crowding against the banister to watch them and make sure their eyes aren’t deceiving them and they really just saw Professor Styles and Professor Tomlinson holding hands.

“Yeah, love?” Louis asks, not bothering to keep his voice down. There’s a bright, deliriously happy smile on his face that makes Harry’s heart twist in his chest.

“I think we need to stop in the lounge before we go.” He pats his belly with a grimace, scowling a little when Louis grins in understanding. Pouting now, Harry grumbles, “Don’t make fun of the pregnant person.”

“ _Never_ ,” Louis promises, squeezing Harry’s hand in reassurance. “Hey, d’you think Liam might be in there? Maybe we could get started with our revenge today.”

“Louis,” Harry warns, pitching his voice low on the off chance that someone wanders into the deserted entry hall, “I will not let you drag me all over this castle just so you can snog me in front of our friends. I want to have a wee, then go home so we can have celebratory sex and then you can make me pancakes.”

Louis pretends to consider Harry’s statement, fingers tapping against his chin, but then he breaks into a smile, concedes, “Alright, fine, twist me arm.”

The staff lounge is deserted when they slip inside, just as Harry had expected on a Hogsmeade weekend. Already wrestling with his heavy, oversized robes, Harry heads toward the toilets, turning to walk backwards so he can say, “Don’t you summon Liam here while I’m having a wee, we can deal with him Monday. I want sex and pancakes.”

“Sex and pancakes,” Louis agrees, looking incredibly pleased with the prospect.

There’s anticipation humming gently in his veins by the time Harry pushes back out into the lounge, and he finds Louis leaning casually against the wall just to the side of the door, smiles when he purrs, “Hello, Professor Styles. Have I mentioned you look quite cute in these robes?”

“Please,” Harry mumbles, looking down at himself. He’s wearing the same baggy robes from earlier in the week, and he hates them. “I look like I’m wearing a cloth sack. I’m so relieved everyone can know, now, and I can finally wear something a little lighter and tighter.”

“Aww, you hear that, babies?” Louis asks, settling both hands on Harry’s stomach. “Your daddy is very excited to show you off. I’m pretty excited too, can’t wait for everyone to know I’m your papa.”

Every nerve in his body singing, thrilled with the knowledge that they don’t have to hide anymore, with Louis’ excitement, with Louis’ hands on him, gentle and reverent, Harry runs a hand through Louis’ hair and whispers, “Alright, papa, take us home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SOOOOO much for reading and subscribing and leaving comments and kudos and sending me lovely messages on tumblr, I appreciate every single one of you so, so much! I hope you all enjoyed the fic and that it wasn't too gross and cheesy because there may or may not be an epilogue coming in the next week or so sweating.emoji
> 
> :D

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING I HOPE YOU'RE ENJOYING SO FAR ♥
> 
> If you feel like saying hi~ I am [supernope](http://supernope.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and [snupernope](https://twitter.com/snupernope) on twitter ☺


End file.
